


Aspects of Love

by starrdust411



Series: Something Entirely New [2]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Dating, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mentors, Pregnancy, Romance, Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-04 01:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 64,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11544303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrdust411/pseuds/starrdust411
Summary: As Goku and ChiChi anticipate the birth of their second child, Bulma attempts to create a home with a directionless Vegeta, Gohan comes to terms with being the Earth’s protector, Kuririn explores the possibility of a relationship with the now reformed Android 18, Piccolo takes on the role of mentor to two disciples, and Yamucha and Tenshinhan find themselves in uncharted territory.





	1. Announcements

Gohan had never expected to hear this sort of news from Mother and Father. Their relationship had always been an unusual one, a fact that had not gone unnoticed even by a child raised in relative isolation in the mountains. The two didn’t show affection often, their kisses and touches were infrequent, almost purposely hidden as if they were afraid of doing something unseemly in front of their child, and the pair didn’t so much bicker as have one sided conversations that one party seemed almost perpetually unaware were arguments. Yet Gohan had always known that Mother and Father were in love, because they always felt united even when they were separated or when their ideas seemed at odds. Gohan knew this from the way Father always seemed to long for Mother when she was gone, and how Mother always spoke highly of Father, even when others seemed less than fond of him.

That morning their hands were joined beneath the kitchen table, a fact that Gohan was to decipher from the way they sat close together with their sides nearly touching. Pride was shining clearly in Father’s eyes as he sat straight backed in his wooden seat as Mother smiled, reassuring but tired. Suddenly all the pieces feel into place and Gohan understood why Grandpa had been visiting so often, why Mother had spent most days laid up in bed without a chiding word from Father, and why Gohan had been called upon to do more chores around the house. 

Gohan sat back against the polished wood of the chair, turning the news over and over, processing this new information. After a moment the shock faded and excitement settled in her stomach. “A baby,” she said at last. Her mind instantly recalled the image of little Trunks, chubby and soft and always curled up in Bulma’s arms and Gohan smiled. “I… I never would’ve guessed.”

Father laughed, a short chortle that was smug yet warm as the muscles in his arms flexed in a clear sign that beneath the table he was offering Mother’s hand a tender squeeze. “An’ why not?” he asked with good natured pride. “Despite wha’cha might think, yer ol’ Pa is still a young man in his prime.”

Gohan chuckled awkwardly as Mother turned her tired smile in Father’s direction. In that moment Gohan suddenly felt the excitement in her stomach fade away as worry soon settled upon her as she studied her mother’s features carefully. Mother looked exhausted, her usually sun kissed skin seemed pale and dark bags sat beneath her deep black eyes. Gohan had seen her mother in terrible conditions before, had seen her clothes shredded to threads, her limbs battered and broken, her skin torn like paper with blood pouring out in sickening ways. Yet somehow this was different, this was too much like the illness that had plagued her just months ago and left her bedridden and weak as a kitten. 

Gohan felt her heart clench as she reached out across the table, her small hands lying flat against the wooden surface that just moments ago had held their breakfast. “Mother,” Gohan began, her words causing alertness to flash behind Mother’s eyes as she purposely sat a little straighter in her chair. “Are you alright? A baby… so soon after everything that’s happened…?”

Mother laughed, the sound not holding its usual brightness, yet there was still the familiar air of warmth and joy that her mother always seemed to possess. “I’m alright,” Mother assured her as she lifted her free hand in order to grasp Gohan’s own. Her fingers weren’t delicate and soft the way Gohan imagined most children would describe their mother’s hands as being, but had the blunt calloused touch of a seasoned warrior. Gohan knew from first-hand experience, and from the way Mother’s friends spoke of her, that tenderness was not her strong suit, yet Mother always did her best to be gentle and kind when the moment called for it. “I wasn’t pregnant when I got sick or fought with Cell if that’s what you’re thinkin’.”

Relief spread across her like a cool balm at the comment, but it wasn’t enough to shake away the fear completely, because there were other things to be concerned about. “Well… how long have you known?”

Mother and Father shared a look, one that seemed to hold a silent discussion in only the blink of an eye, before they both turned back and offered her an apologetic smile. “Just over a month ago,” Mother confessed.

Gohan blanched at the revelation, shocked that her parents had managed to keep a secret from her for so long. “A month?” she echoed.

“We didn’t want you frettin’ over nothin’,” Father explained. “Yer Ma was in a delicate way an’… Well, havin’ babies is rather tricky, Gohan-chan. It ain’t always as easy as it looks in the movies.”

Gohan nodded, yet she didn’t really understand. She didn’t know anything about pregnancy or babies. A few of her recent health and biology books had contained chapters on that subject, but Father had steered her away from reading into such topics, insisting that Gohan was still too young to know about the “birds an’ the bees” as he put it. A part of her wondered if Father would allow her to learn about it now, but she decided instantly to put off asking for at least another day or so.

“There’s gonna be a lotta changes around here, Gohan,” Mother told her, her serious tone in contrast with the smile pulling at her lips. “Mommy’s not gonna have much energy for a while.” The worry must have been clear in Gohan’s eyes at Mother’s comment as she was quick to squeeze her hand in reassurance. “It’ll pass soon enough. If this baby’s anythin’ like you were, I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

“But not too soon,” Father cut in, the hand that had been grasping Mother’s soon lifted to her shoulder as if to push his point home. “Yer Ma’s gonna need plenty of rest so Grandpa’s gonna be stayin’ over for a while ta help me work the field. An’ I’ll still expect ya ta keep up with yer studies _an’_ do yer share of chores.”

“An’ don’t go slackin’ off on your trainin’,” Mother put in suddenly. “I may be laid up in bed for a while, but that ain’t no excuse for you to be gettin’ soft.” 

Father frowned pointedly at her words, but managed to hold back from commenting as he kept his mouth pressed into a line of silent disapproval. This was clearly something that the two had discussed for a while and was no doubt part of the reason they had waited so long to tell Gohan about the baby. Mother had always been a martial artist through and through, fighting having been a favorite pass time of hers since Gohan could remember, but Father didn’t quite approve of Mother sharing her passion with Gohan. He still insisted that he would make Gohan a scholar, determined she would become someone whose worth lied in more than her fists in order for their family to be as normal and happy as possible. 

Gohan had never really found much joy in either path. Not all of the books Father made her read were so bad. There were times that she did enjoy learning new things, exploring parts of the world that she couldn’t see in Mount Paozu and losing herself in the pages of an adventure that was exciting yet safe. Yet those books were cold, lifeless things and the hours Gohan spent locked away in her room pouring over pages of practice drills and equations were some of the loneliest times she had ever known. More than once Gohan had thought that if she only had a schoolmate or two then her lessons would not seem so agonizing, yet they were trapped in the middle of nowhere, miles away from anyone her age, leaving Gohan to suffer alone.

And then there was budo. She had never chosen that path consciously, had been thrown into that world when Piccolo had taken her from Mother’s dying arms with the intent of making her a warrior. There were times when the path of a warrior seemed like a mistake, because it was filled with pain and blood and death, yet there were times when she lost herself in a fight, in the desire to protect her family and everything that was important. She still remembered what Number 16 had said to her, how the birds and the trees needed to be protected from monsters like Cell. She had lost herself in that fight -- she had become something twisted and dark, a person she did not recognize or want to be -- but she had also found a power that could protect her family, her home, and everything she loved and Gohan wanted desperately to hang onto that.

“But Mother, if you’re too weak to train me, then who…?”

Mother smiled, a gleam shining in her dark eyes that Gohan was quite familiar with as Father squirmed and frowned in open displeasure. “As if you even hafta ask,” she chuckled lightly. “Piccolo already agreed ta help us out while I’m stayin’ off my feet.”

A smile began to pull at the corner of her lips at Mother’s announcement, but Gohan was mindful to school her looks in her father’s presence. Just as she had expected there was a sour expression playing across his features, his brow knitting as his lips twisted in a distasteful frown. Father was even less fond of Piccolo than he was of budo and Gohan reasoned that she could understand. 

Father and Mother had both told her stories of the way Piccolo used to be before she had been born, but in spite of those stories and his imposing demeanor, Gohan could only judge Piccolo by her own experiences with him. She had been terrified of him at first, it was only natural that any four year old child would be frightened by the demon that had taken her from her family and left her to survive in the woods on her own, but those fears had disappeared as a bond built on understanding soon grew between them and Gohan could only see Piccolo as her sensei.

“Only on the weekends,” Father put in at last his words colored with a heavy sigh. “There’s still plenty of work ta be done at home an’ that comes first.”

Mother did not offer any protest to this. In fact, Gohan was a bit surprised to see that she actually smiled at Father, her expression warm and proud, as if she felt she had accomplished a great deal in getting him to agree to that much. That sense of pride likely didn’t do much for adding to her energy, as Mother’s already slouched posture began to droop even more as she tried and failed to fight off the yawn bubbling in her throat.

Father noticed her fatigue and in an instant the displeasure on his face melted into concern as he shifted in his seat. “Alright now,” he began, his voice stern yet tender as he made to stand, grasping Mother’s arm pointedly in his hand, “we’ve made our announcement now it’s back ta bed for ya, Goku-sa’.”

Mother stood with a reluctant sigh and a childish pout, yet once she was back on her feet Gohan noticed the way her body still sagged as if the mere effort needed for standing was tiresome. “Aw, ChiChi,” she whined, “it’s still mornin’!”

“Yes, an’ we jus’ finished our breakfast so now’s the perfect time for a nap. Gohan-chan, take care of the dishes for me while I put yer mother ta bed.”

Gohan smiled quietly to herself as she watched the two leave the kitchen, Father fussing over Mother who allowed herself to be lead away in spite of her sleepy protests. Once they were out of sight Gohan stood from the table and pushed in her chair before getting to work on the dishes stacked in the sink and awaiting her attention.

 _A baby,_ she thought to herself as she poured soap on the sponge and waited for the water to warm. _A baby brother. A little sister._

She had thought about what it would be like to have a sibling before, but Gohan had never entertained the idea that it would happen. Father had talked often enough about wanting another child or two, but Mother always seemed set against it. “Gohan’s the only baby we need,” she had heard Mother say once in the time before their lives had gotten so chaotic. Gohan supposed that all their adventures with space men and androids had only helped to aid Mother’s desire to maintain their family’s size. Yet it had finally happened, a baby would soon enter their world and Gohan realized that it was just another sign of a new age of peace that was settling upon them. 

Half of the dishes were properly soaked and scrubbed of all traces of food by the time Father returned to the kitchen. Gohan turned to greet him with a smile and was rewarded by Father stepping briskly over to her side and pressing a quick kiss to the top of her hair. “Is Mother resting?” Gohan asked as Father grabbed a dish towel and began to dry a few plates.

He nodded, the smile never leaving his lips. “She’ll be needin’ plenty of rest for a while, whether she wants ta admit it or not. These first few weeks are gonna take a lot outta her.”

Gohan nodded wordlessly as she focused on scrubbing at a particularly stubborn spot on one of the pans Father has used to fry their fish. She suddenly began to wonder if their home would be big enough for a fourth person, if the next time Grandpa came to visit he would be helping to expand their little cottage, if Father would have to add another section to their already impressive fields in order to help pay for another mouth to feed. Her hands began to tremble ever so slightly at the thoughts and a dozen others that began to swirl through her mind. 

Father must have noticed the awkward little tremor as Gohan soon felt his gaze settling silently upon her. “Gohan,” he began, his voice firm yet not unkind. There was a soft clink as he placed the dish he had been drying aside in order to grasp at Gohan’s narrow shoulders. Gohan switched the facet off before she turned and met her father’s gaze. The smile that seemed to be permanently fixed to his face had slipped away as a serious look settled upon his features. “Now I can tell by that look in yer eyes that yer frettin’ over all this,” Father said and Gohan instantly found herself squirming in open discomfort at his perceptive gaze. “I ain’t gonna tell ya not ta. I already know yer gonna be fussin’ an’ frettin’ whether I want ya ta or not. Get that from me, I reckon.” The corner of his lip curled into a wry smile and Gohan suddenly felt her nerves ease. “But I want ya ta know that yer Mother an’ I are gonna figure this out. We’ve been through this sorta thing before an’ we came out just fine.”

Gohan nodded and this time she felt more confident in doing so. After all, her parents had faced much worse in their marriage than a second child. Their relationship had already survived not only being on separate planets, but separate plains of existence. Yet still Gohan felt troubled and unsurprisingly this did not escape Father’s notice either. He gave her shoulders a quick squeeze before lifting his hands in order to cradle her face in his palm. “Everthin’ll turn out jus’ fine, Gohan-chan,” Father assured before planting a quick kiss to her forehead. “Ya jus’ need ta have a little faith in yer Ma an’ Pa.”

“You’re right,” Gohan said softly and was rewarded with another peck on her forehead as Father picked up his dishtowel once more and returned to his task of wiping down the cups and plates in the dish rack.

Twisting the facet back on Gohan did her best to set her mind back to her own task of washing dishes, yet found that she could not. Something hard and uneasy had settled into the pit of her stomach and Gohan had a feeling that it wouldn’t be going away any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like with "Something New" this is an alternate universe where everyone in Goku's family is a different sex/gender, but the rest of the characters are the same.


	2. Minor Adjustments

Stepping into the Gravity Chamber was an oddly familiar gesture. The room hadn’t been used in months, nearly a year, yet it was not the way he had left it. When Vegeta had last set foot inside the chamber it had been after a particularly grueling training session, during which he quite clearly remembered leaving everything in utter shambles before commandeering the human’s crudely made spaceship and continuing his preparations for the battle with the androids beyond the stars. 

He had pushed himself and his body to its breaking point during his time in space, his only motivation being to achieve his goal of ascending in order to claim the transformation that was rightfully his own. When he had reached his goal it had occurred to him that he didn’t need to return to Earth, that its troubles and its pathetic inhabitants, especially Kakarotto, were far beneath him, but his pride would not allow his achievement to go unnoticed so he had gone back to the rural little frontier planet in order to gloat in that lowest class warrior’s face. He hadn’t expected a warm welcome upon his return, nor had he anticipated that the gravity chamber that he had nearly demolished would be restored.

That Earth woman Bulma had done it. He knew as much even though it made no logical sense in his mind. They had parted on sour terms before he had departed, the woman having just learned that she was carrying his child. Vegeta’s response to her discovery had been less than enthusiastic and when Vegeta had decided to take her father’s ship he hadn’t exactly discussed the matter with her beforehand. He still remembered the way her face had looked in the display screen, her bright eyes flashing as her face began to turn as blue as her hair while she cursed Vegeta’s name until he had clicked off the monitor, silencing her voice and filling the ship’s main cabin with the silence of space.

Yet here he stood in a restored chamber. The tiles at his feet smooth and solid, unlike the cracked, chipped pieces of granite that he had left in his wake and the walls repainted, restored to their unscorched white color. The glass in the windows and display screens had been switched out as well, replaced with uncracked panes and even the buttons on the consuls had been removed in place of fresh ones.

Even the air in the chamber felt different now; no longer stuffy and thick with a combination of smoke and sweat. For once the temperature of the room was cool, calmingly so and Vegeta was tempted to remedy that by switching on the panel and picking up his training where he had left off. 

Yet it was a fleeting urge, one that he allowed to die away as quickly as it came, because nothing mattered anymore. Training and fighting no longer interested him, the thoughts of those things leaving a bitter taste in his mouth ever since Cell’s defeat. 

It was one thing for himself, a Prince and elite warrior, to be bested by someone like Kakarotto, a lowest class waste of time deemed only suitable for conquering pathetic worlds like this one. That was a humiliation he could deal with, one that he thought for certain he would remedy in the near future. Yet to be surpassed by that lowest class wench’s half breed daughter… That was an insult too great for him. Somehow that soft hearted child had managed to reach a level beyond anything he could have hoped to achieve, had managed to take on an opponent that had mopped the floor with him in their previous encounter, and had done it without any satisfaction or pride in what she had accomplished. The whole affair was simply sickening.

His gloved hands lingered against the control panels, hovering over the activation switch. This world was poisonous. It made its inhabitants pathetic and soft. No one on this planet understood power and what it truly meant to be strong.

Light poured into the darkened room, spilling in from the door that had suddenly slid open and bending around the slender figure lingering in the entry way. Vegeta frowned as the light poured across him, illuminating the control panel that he still could not bring himself to operate as a familiar voice drifted his way.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding. I should’ve known.”

He felt his jaw tighten at the sound of the Earth woman’s voice. He could tell from the rhythmic tapping sound that she was drumming her finger nails expectantly against the door frame, waiting impatiently for him to acknowledge her properly. After a moment she must have given up on waiting for his response and decided to carry on.

“I just got a call from Son-kun’s husband,” she went on, her infantile pet name for Kakarotto enough to make his skin crawl. “It seems like there’s going to be another Saiya-jin in the world. Isn’t that nice?”

Vegeta felt his ears perk up at the announcement then instantly felt his stomach sour. It suddenly occurred to him just how long it had been since Cell’s defeat. Three full months had passed and that simpleton Kakarotto had wasted no time in getting herself pregnant during this unexpected period of peace.

Bulma had questioned him about Kakarotto once, back when he had first found himself stranded on this backwater planet. “She is the last of your race, the last _female_ ,” the woman had probed in what she likely thought was a casual manner, but Vegeta had recognized it for the calculating maneuver that it was. “You must have thought about it at least once: the two of you saving the species?”

Vegeta had only just become familiar with the human woman, had still found her very presence a nuisance, and to this day he still wondered why he didn’t crush her frail little neck in his hands for even thinking to ask him such a vulgar and intrusive question. It was true enough that he and Kakarotto were among the last pureblooded male and female Saiya-jins, but Vegeta had no desires towards her. She was, after all, a lowest class Saiya-jin, an inferior creature that he would not allow to warm his bed, let alone bare his child. She was a rival to him, nothing more, and even that was an honor too great for the likes of her.

What’s more, as Vegeta had once told Nappa, he had no desire or illusions of “saving the Saiya-jin race.” Their numbers had always been small and their kind never had been the sort to give much thought towards children or procreation and Vegeta doubted that bedding Kakarotto just for the chance of having a full blooded offspring would do much good in the long term. He had long since given up on the idea that the Saiya-jins could ever resurface in any real, meaningful way, these half-blood mutts likely being the last lingering pieces of their once proud race.

The people of this pathetic planet didn’t seem to share Vegeta’s indifference towards reproduction. From what he could tell the Earthlings all seemed obsessed with their offspring, a trait that the soft hearted Kakarotto had developed during her time amongst them. He wondered distantly if this child was planned, if she had lain with her husband fully intending to create another crossbreed creature, or if this was just another in a long line of coincidences. 

With an apathetic huff he pushed that thought aside and stepped away from the console, choosing instead to face the far wall. He could make out Bulma’s silhouette from the corner of his eye and saw now that she was balancing Trunks against her hip. Suddenly the urge to turn her way tugged gently at him, but he purposely shoved it aside. 

_The heat of an energy beam cut through the air, still thick and clouded with sand and smoke, and suddenly the smell of singed flesh hit his nostrils._

“Soft hearted foolishness,” Vegeta grumbled, giving voice at last to the thoughts that had been swirling through his mind. 

Bulma responded to his comment in much the way he had anticipated, by pursing her lips in displeasure and placing an indignant hand on her hip. “That’s just the sort of thing a lunk headed brute like you would say,” she huffed. The woman had such tenacity to her. She knew full and well Vegeta’s power, that it would be a simple matter for him to dismember her without any effort at all, yet still she did not recoil or withdraw at the slightest sign of his annoyance. He admired that in her. “I think it’s sweet that they’re having another baby. Trunks will have a little playmate soon. Won’t that be nice, Trunks-kun?”

He could see her fussing with the child, tickling his round chin with the tip of her finger and eliciting a delighted laugh. There were times when Vegeta wondered if the infant were truly of his blood. He laughed and smiled too freely to be a Saiya-jin babe, yet Vegeta had seen the scar on his backside where his tail had once been and knew without a doubt that the child was his own. 

_He smelt blood and char before he saw where the beam had hit home. The blast of light had moved too quickly for even his sharp eyes to track it and in that instant the energy had managed to embed itself deep in the young man’s sternum, leaving a gaping hole in its wake._

“What that fool does with herself doesn’t concern me,” Vegeta sneered as he pivoted on his heels towards the doorway. He could feel Bulma’s eyes upon him, her displeased glower following every footstep even as he shoved his way past her. 

“It should concern you,” Bulma shot back, following a few steps behind him as he made his way down the hall and across the massive compound where her family and their business dwelled. The building was a maze, but nothing that Vegeta wasn’t used to. Freeza’s ships and bases had been greater in scale than Bulma’s home, but he could tell by Earth standards that this dwelling was impressive. “You’re an endangered species, you know?”

“A ‘species’ can’t be saved with only two,” Vegeta threw back as he made his way towards the elevator. He pressed one of the switches, forgetting which direction the kitchen would be in, but hoping that he would be able to find it before Bulma realized that he was lost.

“Well, that may be true, but that doesn’t mean this baby isn’t a good thing,” she countered and Vegeta could practically hear the way her eyes rolled when she spoke. “There are other things in this world to take pleasure in besides fighting!”

He let out a pointed huff as the elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to reveal the car waiting for him. He stepped inside and found Bulma entering along with him. She reached out a slim finger and jabbed pointedly at one of the floors and Vegeta was tempted to press a different one just to spite her, but he decided against it. He would wait and see where they would land.

“We’re going to go see her,” Bulma announced, bouncing Trunks against her hip for emphasis.

“Where’s the sense in that? The baby hasn’t even been born yet.”

This time he saw Bulma roll her eyes, her head lolling back as she did so in order to underscore the gesture. “It’s called ‘being social,’ space man!” she shot back. “When your friend tells you good news, you go visit to say ‘congratulations!’”

He let out another short scoff as the elevator chimed once more before the doors slid open. “Waste your time in whatever way you wish,” he told her. “It’s none of my concern.”

He only managed to get one foot out of the elevator and onto the floor outside the thick double doors before Bulma reached out her delicate little hand and grasped his bicep. He turned to her, raising an eyebrow in silent question and found her lips curved in a very pointed smirk. “I don’t think you understood me, Vegeta,” she said, slow and deliberate. “When I said ‘we’ I meant _you_ as well.”

Vegeta sneered and pulled his arm away, a gesture that caused Trunks to flap his little arms in the air playfully.

_The boy’s head hit the ground with a sickening thud, the sound resonating in his ears, even over the howling wind that was still ripping around them, as lavender hair spilled across the hard ground._

“I already told you I don’t care about what that empty headed woman does! Don’t include me in your pathetic rituals!”

“Oh you’re included,” Bulma said as she stepped out of the elevator car and over to his side. He only had a few inches on her, but she managed to raise herself up on her heels enough to seemingly erase them. It was truly a shame the Earth woman thought so lowly of combat. With the proper training she could have been a decent warrior, by human standards at least. “You’ll always be included when _I_ decide you are.” 

Vegeta sneered in distaste at her words and her touch, even if her delicate fingers felt oddly pleasant against the thin threading of his clothes. Again he considered crushing her, wrapping his own hand around her and twisting until her bones crunched beneath his fingers, but the thought was hollow and distant and gave him no pleasure. Instead he shifted his arm, pulling away from Bulma’s grasp before continuing to march off down the hall.

“Spare me your foolishness,” he scoffed knowing good and well that in another hour or two she would have a plane prepared and that he would board it with her. He knew this, but he also knew that he still had time to locate the kitchen before their departure.


	3. Dropping By

It was mid-afternoon when the jet touched down on the open field that was their “front yard.” Gohan had heard the sound of the engine approaching from her bedroom where she had been pouring over the latest set of text books that Father had given her. 

Mother must have heard the plane’s approach as well, as she came shuffling out of her bedroom with a sudden burst of vigor. Gohan caught a glimpse of her out in the hall looking tired and sluggish as she sloppily tied the sash around her waist. She was wearing the blue and orange Cheongsam that she only ever wore at home when she wouldn’t be training (which meant quite infrequently). Mother turned and glanced into Gohan’s room, her dark eyes instantly landing on her and Gohan felt herself ducking her head and turning back to the books spread across her desk in embarrassment. Yet Mother didn’t seem the least bit concerned at the prospect of Gohan neglecting her studies, as Gohan should have known.

“Company’s comin’, Gohan,” Mother announced, her words drowsy yet cheerful. “You can take a break from your studies for a bit.”

Gohan smiled gratefully at her mother as she marked off her page before pushing away from desk and following Mother out into the hall. Father was already in the kitchen, still putting away the dishes from lunch. Yet he too had heard the sound of the plane and had gotten to work setting up a kettle and cups for tea. 

“Bulma-sa’ ain’t wastin’ no time with the well wishes,” Father commented as he placed the freshly filled kettle on the waiting stove. 

“That’s Bulma for you,” Mother confirmed pleasantly as she stepped out the front door in order to greet their inbound guests. 

Gohan waited inside with Father, helping him to finish clearing away the remaining dishes and arranging the kitchen for company. Guests were few and far between for them. Mother’s friends would drop by often enough -- Bulma and Yamucha being the most frequent visitors back when they were on good terms, yet Kuririn would come around to fish or spar with Mother during the warmer months, while Tenshinhan and Chaozu had stopped by only once when Gohan was just a toddler to discuss the likelihood of a future tournament -- but even those visits were infrequent given how isolated they were out in the mountains. As she grew older Gohan began to quietly suspect that Father may have been partly responsible for that, since many of Mother’s friends did not seem particularly fond of him, an indifference which Father shared. 

“They’re jus’ a bunch of fightin’ fools,” Father had told her once when it was just the two of them in her room one night. “They ain’t bad people, yer Ma’s friends, but their lives are empty. They ain’t got nothin’ but what their fists can earn ‘em. That ain’t no way ta live.” She had only been a child, just a few days shy of four, when Father had told her this, but the memory of his bitter words and distasteful frown still stuck in her mind years later. Mother had told Gohan that Father had been something of a fighter once; that Grandpa himself had trained with Kame Sennin in his youth, but clearly something had happened that had changed Father’s opinion of budo for the worse.

Her ears perked up as the sound of Mother’s laughter came sharply towards them from just beyond their walls. Gohan frowned and turned towards the front door and found that it was still wide open. From her place in the kitchen she could see what had caused such a response from Mother.

Bulma had not come alone. She was standing out in the yard with little Trunks in her arms and Vegeta standing a few paces away. He was dressed in normal clothes, a navy colored shirt with long sleeves and a pair pressed of khakis. Gohan had seen Vegeta in Earth clothes before, but each time he had looked uncomfortable and out of place in them. Gohan distantly wondered if it was similar to the way she had felt when Vegeta had given her the Saiya-jin armor to wear back on the old planet Namek.

Father frowned as he stepped towards the widow facing their yard in order to get a better look at their guests. “Who’s that fella?” he asked. “The one with Bulma-sa’?”

“That’s Vegeta, Father,” Gohan informed him. “You’ve met him before, I think. He was staying with Bulma-san when we summoned the Namekian Dragon to bring everyone back.”

Father’s frown deepened as he studied Vegeta carefully from a distance. Gohan could see there was no recognition in his eyes as he gave a thoughtful hum before returning to his task of straightening the kitchen. “So that’s Vegeta, eh? Hard ta imagine that he an’ yer Mother are the same race. They don’t look nothin’ alike.”

Gohan turned her attention back towards the group that had gathered outside. She could see that Mother was still pointing and laughing at Vegeta’s expense, no doubt amused by his clothes and how out of sorts he looked wearing them. Vegeta’s jaw was clenched in open contempt, his hands stuffed firmly into his pockets as he did his best not to meet Mother’s gaze. It was clear that Vegeta had not come to see them by his own choice as he looked as if he would prefer to be anywhere else.

Bulma must have said something to gain Mother’s attention as the laughter finally died down as Mother instead pressed a hand to her stomach. It was a small gesture, but it was enough to draw Vegeta’s gaze briefly towards Mother’s hands and the way they rested gently on her still flat midsection. There was still contempt lingering in Vegeta’s scowl, but a brief flash of interest seemed to fade in and out of his eyes as well before he seemed to huff and turn his head away once more. 

At last Mother finally ushered Bulma and Vegeta inside and Gohan smiled in anticipation. “Hello Bulma-san, Vegeta-san,” Gohan greeted politely once their guests had walked through the door. She was rewarded with a warm smile from Bulma and pointed indifference from Vegeta, but her eyes locked on little Trunks. “Bulma-san, may I play with Trunks-chan?”

Father chuckled proudly at Gohan’s request. “Takin’ an interest in babies already, eh Gohan-chan?” Father asked as he placed a proud hand on her shoulder. 

“Well she’ll be a big sister soon enough,” Bulma said fondly as she handed the baby over to Gohan. “He just woke up from a nap, so he’s ready to play.”

Gohan whispered her thanks as she held Trunks to her chest. Her nose was instantly hit with the smell of powder and milk as the baby squirmed and squealed happily in her arms. She smiled down at him and carried him off into the yard, leaving the adults to chuckle in amusement at her departure. 

The sun felt good on her skin, the warm late summer air feeling good on her skin after spending hours cooped up inside with her books. Trunks was a pleasant weight in her arms, his whole body soft like a pillow yet warm in only the ways another body could be. She carried him off towards the trees that surrounded their home, just far enough away that they could no longer hear the adults inside the house, but still close enough to be seen from the kitchen window. He squealed in delight as she lifted him high above her head before they sat down together on grass below. 

Trunks’s legs were like chubby little logs as they plopped down against her lap and Gohan found herself having to gently adjust them into a proper sitting position in order to ensure that they were both comfortable. She leaned back against the base of a tree as Trunks continued to clap and gurgle happily in the sunlight. He was a surprisingly happy baby for someone with Vegeta’s blood and Gohan had to wonder if the other Trunks had ever been this happy and care free. She still remembered his eyes: bright blue, yet sad and painfully lonely. Her heart still ached for that other Trunks. They had managed to turn things right for the baby who now sat in her lap, but the other Trunks still had a lifetime of horrors behind him, and nothing would change that. Gohan sighed and hugged the baby to her chest. He went into the embrace willingly, settling against her without the slightest fuss and Gohan rewarded his good behavior with a pat on the back.

“Mother will be having a baby soon,” she whispered into his little ears. “I’ll be a big sister in just a few months. Isn’t that exciting?”

Trunks responded by letting out a small yawn, his breath warming her neck as his chubby little hands reached up in search of his mouth. Gohan gently helped to guide them to his lips and soon found that the baby gently sucking his own thumb.

She smiled and gave him another hug.

*

“It’s sure nice of ya ta come all this way, Bulma-sa’,” ChiChi said politely as he refilled his guest’s teacup. “I thought for sure ya’d be too tied up with yer own little one ta make it over here.”

Bulma chuckled as she added a few spoonful’s of sugar into her tea, stirring gently in order to dissolve the little crystals while keeping mindful not to clink against the rim of the glass. “Are you kidding? Of course I’d come check on Son-kun. She’s practically family, after all.”

ChiChi nodded and set the pot aside before returning to his own seat. “But yer little fella must be quite a handful. An’ ta be raisin’ him all on yer own…”

Bulma gave a slight frown at the comment, her hand going still as the teacup hung in the air just inches from her lips. She was mindful to smooth away the look as she lowered her cup back to the table. “Well, I wouldn’t say I was doing it all on my own,” she amended pointedly. “My parents are with me after all. And then there’s Vegeta…”

ChiChi felt his eyes drift off to the living room where Goku had taken Vegeta. Every now and again he could hear their conversation, pointedly one sided and a touch tense, and found himself fighting against the urge to walk over there to see exactly what was going on. He didn’t feel right having that man in his home. He was a killer after all and nothing about the look of him seemed to disprove that. ChiChi supposed he couldn’t be as forgiving as Goku and Bulma seemed, couldn’t put aside the fact that the man sitting in their living room had willfully done horrible things to others. Goku always said that ChiChi needed to be more trusting, but Goku was also the one who had gotten killed by Piccolo Daimao’s son just six years ago and now openly approved of their daughter being under his supervision. 

ChiChi sipped his tea and allowed the warmth to pour down his throat. “Yes, I was surprised ta see that he had come along. Has he been … lendin’ a hand?”

Bulma seemed to take a small bit of offense to the question, likely seeing ChiChi’s hesitance for what it was, but she had just enough courtesy to not call him out on it. Yet. “He’s been doing better,” she told him. “After Trunks left, the other Trunks that is, a change seemed to go over him. He’s still stoic and stubborn as all hell, but he’s trying and that’s good.”

“Yes. That’s good.” ChiChi frowned as he gazed down at the still surface of the tea in his glass. The cup felt solid and warm against his palm. “Bulma-sa’,” he began slowly. “There’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ ta ask ya... Trunks-chan… Was he born with a tail?”

This time Bulma stiffened, her eyes widening as her skin lost a touch of its color. Her gaze sank down to her own cup as a sheepish air settled upon her. “Well… yes. We had it removed when he was born. It seemed only right.”

The answer had been exactly what ChiChi had expected, yet still it weighed heavily on him as he fought against the urge to tighten his grasp on his cup. “So ya did know didn’cha? ‘Bout Goku-sa’s tail an’ what it could do?”

“ChiChi-san…”

“Goku-sa’ didn’ know,” he went on distantly. “She told me as much. After y’all left for space she told me all about the Saiya-jins an’ what happened durin’ that fight.”

“I… I know I should’ve told you,” Bulma said at last. “When we found out that Gohan would be born with a tail, I knew I should have told you, but I… I was afraid. I was afraid of what might happen. I know it’s stupid, but… I thought you might leave her.”

His body tensed at the comment. He stared at Bulma, her face still obscured from his view as her head remained bowed, but despite the guilty air he could see that she was convinced that her old fears held some truth to them. “Leave her? I’d never leave her! I love Goku-sa’ an’ ain’t nothin’s ever gonna change that.” He sighed as he forced himself to be mindful of their surroundings and the fact that Goku was still in the other room and Gohan was still playing just outside. “It’s hard ta think about at times,” he confessed. “I try not ta dwell on it, but it doesn’t change the fact that, somehow, I married an alien.” ChiChi chuckled and pressed a hand to his forehead. “I still can’t believe that that’s a thing I can say, that it’s somethin’ that actually _happened_. I love Goku an’ Gohan an’ this new baby, but… but their aliens. They ain’t like me.”

“ChiChi-san, that’s not true,” Bulma insisted. Her small hand reached across the table and settled on top of his. Her skin was soft and delicate, milky white against his sun kissed flesh. “They’re your family. That’s a connection that’s more powerful than anything.”

ChiChi huffed and pulled his hand away from Bulma’s spindly fingers. “That doesn’t change the fact that she has more in common with Vegeta than me.” He frowned and looked up at her and saw that the words had touched a slight nerve. “Have ya ever thought about it? Those two an’ all?”

Bulma frowned, sad and thoughtful, as she pulled her hand back towards her end of the table. “I… I try not to.”

 

*

Vegeta wasn’t very social. He was as bad at small talk and family visits as Goku was. No, he was worse. He wouldn’t take the tea that ChiChi had offered him, wouldn’t sit down at the kitchen table, and when Goku had asked to show him around the house, Vegeta had done nothing to hide the distasteful scowl that the suggestion caused.

Goku was too tired to properly entertain Vegeta. The truth of the matter was if they were in a different situation she would have taken him outside for a quick sparring match, but all she wanted to do in that moment was crawl back into bed and sleep. Her head was foggy with early pregnancy fatigue and sitting upright and forming words was taking more out of her than she had anticipated, but bringing Vegeta into the living room and away from ChiChi was the best solution to their situation she could think of. Slumping against the warm inviting arms of her sofa, Goku did her best to will herself not to fall asleep as Vegeta stood rigidly at the far end of the room.

“It was real nice of Bulma to bring you and Trunks along,” Goku said, forcing herself to make conversation in an effort to keep herself awake. She could tell that her words were coming out slower and softer than usual, but the mere task of speaking was taking far more effort than usual. “It’ll be good for Gohan to get some practice tendin’ to babies.”

Vegeta responded by sucking his teeth in open disgust as he set his gaze on the trees out the windows. Goku already knew that there was nothing to see, the children were on the other side of the house and the forest was far too dense for any birds or monkeys to be within eyesight, but she didn’t put too much thought into it. “He’s not a toy for her to play with,” Vegeta told her bitterly. “She should be worried about other things, like keeping that power of hers under control.”

Goku shifted against a particularly lumpy patch on the couch in the hopes of relieving some of the pressure on the small of her back. “You don’t need to worry ‘bout that,” Goku said confidently. “Piccolo’ll handle that.”

At last Vegeta turned to look at her, his expression questioning as he studied Goku’s own features for a moment to see if she were telling the truth. “Piccolo?” Vegeta echoed and for a moment Goku’s sluggish mind had to pause to recall if Vegeta knew who Piccolo was.

She nodded upon remembering that Piccolo and Vegeta had met several times in the past. “Yup,” she yawned. “He was her first teacher. Figured it was only right that he continue her trainin’ while I’m keepin’ off my feet.”

Vegeta’s frown deepened as he took a step closer to Goku’s side. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? His power may have increased, but his kind does not have the same fighting abilities as a Saiya-jin.”

Goku shrugged, dismissing Vegeta’s concerns with a wave of her hand. “It’ll be alright. I don’t know much ‘bout Namek an’ its people, but I know plenty ‘bout Piccolo. He’s a fighter through an’ through. Plus, he’s plenty smart when it comes to strategy. He’ll teach her everythin’ she needs ta know.”

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy Vegeta as he proceeded to grumble something under his breath before turning his attention back out the window. Even in her worn out state, Goku had caught the fact that Vegeta was pointedly _not_ volunteering to take on Gohan as a disciple and she reasoned it was for the best. Goku knew well enough the sort of warrior Vegeta was. He was someone who had been fighting since he could stand, he was seasoned and passionate about combat, but could be tactful and diligent when the situation called for it. Yet the one thing Vegeta wasn’t was patient and that was something Gohan needed in a teacher. 

Goku knew well that her daughter’s biggest problem was with control. During their time sealed together in the Room of Spirit and Time she had pushed Gohan to the brink, tapped into as much of her potential as she could manage, but Goku knew that there was more inside of her. It would take someone with a skilled hand and a patient heart to bring the rest of that power out of the girl and at the moment Goku didn’t think she could be the one to do it.

“Are you truly content to live like this?” Vegeta asked, the sudden change in topic causing Goku to feel completely lost as she blinked sluggishly in his direction. His gaze hadn’t moved from the window, his back still facing her as his dark eyes scanned the horizon beyond the glass with an eye filled with contempt. “Being out here in this… squalor? This is pleasant to you?”

“I was raised here,” Goku told him pleasantly as she rested her cheek against the palm of her hand. “My Grampa found me not far from here, out in the mountains by the river... I’ve been here most of my life.”

“And your husband,” Vegeta began, speaking the last word as if it left a sour taste on his tongue, “he toils in the dirt growing food for other humans?”

“He’s a farmer, if that’s what you mean,” she corrected. “An’ he’s plenty good at it. The folks in the next mountain over go wild ‘bout his crops.”

Goku listened as Vegeta took in a long deep breath, held it for a few seconds, before slowly releasing it through his nose. “This world… should be a wasteland.”

“Yeah, but what good would that’ve done?” Goku reasoned as her eyelids began to feel painfully heavy. “If I had destroyed the Earth when I was a baby, it wouldn’t’ve done no good for no body ‘cause no body remembered that I was here. I probably woulda died right along with the planet. Instead I’m alive an’ I have a husband an’ a daughter an’ a baby on the way. Plus I have plenty of friends an’ you’re here too with a new family of your own.”

Vegeta huffed distastefully. “You’re soft hearted, just like the rest of the creatures on this miserable planet.”

Goku yawned, resting a bit too much weight on her hand as the couch cushions seemed to envelope and beckon her further into its soft embrace. “Maybe I am,” Goku reasoned as she repositioned herself until her cheek had slipped from her hand onto the padded arm of the sofa. “But that ain’t such a bad thing.”


	4. Denial

_“Laz? Are you still you?”_

She still remembered those words, the first thing her brother had spoken to her after Gero’s first round of modifications. Their bodies had been gutted and carved, their original parts tossed aside or distorted, before they were stuffed and sewn back together again. They knew this because Gero had told them. He had boasted to them about it, so proud of what he had done, of how he had improved them to be better than they were before. Yet she didn’t remember feeling better when she had first woken up. She just felt… wrong. 

She closed her eyes and touched her hand to her forehead, as she found herself doing more often lately, and tried to remember how things used to be. Her name had been Lazuli. That much she remembered, because her brother remembered. He used to call her “Laz” because he was the type to give people nicknames in their old life and when they had first been modified he kept calling her that. Gero had heard them speak to each other with their former names and shut them down for subjecting the two to another round of modifications. When they woke up next the name “Lazuli” had become a distant echo in her ears, one she had to concentrate to hear, because from then on it was always Number 18.

Eighteen sighed and focused on her brother. She could recall his face -- the same shape as hers, the same sharp chin and bright eyes, but framed by black hair and wearing a smirk that seemed to always hold a touch of mischief – but when she tried to recall his name the only thing that came to mind was Number 17. Eighteen wondered how he had remembered, what he had done to hold on to that fleeting bit of their past even after all the times their minds had been wiped clean. They had only known that they were twins because Gero had allowed them to know, but everything else remained a mystery. 

Her thoughts were pushed aside as the sound of the door swinging open caught her ears. She turned her gaze towards the door to the small pink house where the bald young man was standing holding a tray loaded with an assortment of drinks. Eighteen squinted against the sun’s bright rays, her hand sliding from her forehead to the frames of the sunglasses that were resting on the bridge of her nose. He offered her a hesitant smile, his cheeks turning red from the slight attention her gaze offered, as he nervously approached her. 

“I thought you might want something to drink,” Kuririn said by way of an explanation as he stepped closer in order to give her a better view of the glasses of water, lemonade, and fruit punch arranged carefully on the tray. 

Eighteen was disappointed to see that there was nothing alcoholic to choose from, but she reasoned she should have expected as much. The old man only ever kept beer stocked in his fridge, but he seemed to guzzle it up just as quickly as he supplied it. Not that Eighteen had much of a taste for the kind of beer the hermit drank. He only seemed to get the cheap stuff and Eighteen wasn’t a tall boy type of girl. 

She reached her hand out to grab one of the lemonades, but stopped midway. “Straw?” she asked, quirking her eyebrow in emphasis. 

The redness on Kuririn’s cheeks quickly spread across most of his face as he sputtered a quick apology before heading back inside.

Eighteen smiled, pleased at having received the desired response from Kuririn as she lay back against the plastic seat beneath her and continued her sunbathing. She didn’t recall much about dating in her former life, but Eighteen imagined that she had been fairly good at it. She was an attractive woman and was therefore certain that men would have lined up at her door in the hopes of gaining her attention.

Kuririn on the other hand was terrible at dating. He was attentive and kind to be certain, but he utterly lacked confidence and even with this being their fourth date he was still easily reduced to a stuttering mess whenever he was in her presence. He was fortunate that Eighteen enjoyed that aspect of their relationship. She liked that Kuririn was intimidated by her for something other than her strength or the fact that she was a cyborg. It made her feel normal.

He returned quickly enough, the drinks still set on the tray dangerously close to spilling as he rushed to her side with unnecessary urgency. Eighteen glanced back at him and saw that each glass now had a straw and miniature drink umbrella decorating them and smiled pleasantly at the added touch.

“Thank you,” she offered as she grabbed at one of the lemonades, the glass feeling pleasantly cool against her palm. 

Kuririn was positively beaming as he set the drinks down on the sandy beach table beside her. 

A warm breeze passed over them, causing the waves to lap peacefully against the beach and kicking up bits of sand. Eighteen frowned and brushed at the grainy bits that had managed to land on her bare thigh. “Where are your friends?” she asked Kuririn casually between sips of lemonade. “The old man? The turtle? Off pestering women in the city?”

Kuririn chuckled awkwardly at the comment as he grabbed a glass of water for himself. He never invited Eighteen over if the hermit or any of his friends were around. They were still getting to know her and Eighteen had a feeling that most of them were certain she would go on another “rampage” in the future.

“Actually, they’re visiting Goku today,” Kuririn confessed reluctantly.

The name caused Eighteen to bristle. Kuririn didn’t mention Goku often and for that Eighteen was grateful. Son Goku was the reason she and her brother had been abducted and turned into weapons, and even if Goku was not consciously responsible of her current predicament the thought of her still caused a sour feeling to spread through Eighteen’s being. Yet she knew that Son Goku and Kuririn were friends, she knew that because she had been forced to learn that fact long before she had ever actually set eyes on Kuririn, and Eighteen knew that eventually she would have to come to terms with the other woman if things continued to progress between her and Kuririn.

She frowned, pushing back the sour feeling and took a long sip of her drink before speaking. “Visiting?” she asked, hoping that would be enough to gain a response from Kuririn, only to be met with reluctant silence. “What’s wrong? Is she sick again?”

“No,” he said instantly and then seemed to reconsider. He sighed as he sat down heavily on the sand below. “Not really,” he amended. “She’s… she’s pregnant. She’s going to have another baby.”

“Oh.” Eighteen stirred her drink, the melting ice cubes clanking steadily against the glass as she considered this. She already knew that Son Goku was a mother, that she had a husband and a daughter, a daughter who had defeated Cell and indirectly saved her life, but imagining the woman as pregnant seemed strange somehow. It added a sort of softness to her and suddenly the sour feeling began to ease ever so slightly. “Well, that’s pretty big. Why didn’t you join them?”

“I, uh, I wanted to see you,” Kuririn said.

Eighteen smiled coyly at him, her bare legs sliding off the plastic of the chair in order to make room to accommodate him. “That’s a lie.”

The redness continued to spread all the way down to his neck as Kuririn sheepishly picked himself off the ground, brushed the grains of sand that had stuck to his swim trunks, and sat down at the foot of the chair. “N-no it’s not,” he stammered. “It’s the truth. Is it so wrong for a man to want to see his… his _friend_?”

“Girlfriend,” she supplied for him, pleased to see his eyes practically lighting up at the words. They had only been out four times, but Eighteen felt confident that they were at the beginning of something more significant than a simple friendship. Yet she hadn’t said the words to simply send Kuririn soaring through the air in glee and quickly continued on. “Son Goku is your friend. You’ve known each other since childhood. Yet you don’t want to see her now? That’s strange.”

Kuririn sighed, ducking his head as the blush gradually began to lighten from his features until there was only a faint touch of pink beneath his cheeks. He no longer looked elated or love sick, just guilt riddled and uncomfortable. “It’s not strange,” he said defensively and Eighteen suddenly had a feeling that if she kept pushing they would enter into their first real fight. “Look, can we just drop it? Let’s… let’s just enjoy the quiet.”

Eighteen nodded, deciding that Kuririn was right. It was a beautiful day and the island was so peaceful without the old letch lurking about. She didn’t want to fight with Kuririn. She would much rather bask in the sun and work on her tan. Eighteen hummed as she lifted her arms and raised them to the sky, pillowing her hands comfortably behind her head. 

Kuririn noticed the gesture and smiled pleasantly in response. “So,” he began conversationally as he traded out her now empty glass for one of the fresh ones, “have you found your brother yet?”

The tension that shot through her was nearly painful. Her insides felt heavy and anxious as her skin began to drip with sweat brought on by something other than the overwhelming sun hanging over head. She stretched out her legs and allowed them to drape across Kuririn’s lap, not the least bit surprised when he didn’t protest or push them away. “Do you think I need a pedicure?” she teased, wiggling her toes just inches from his face to emphasize her point. “I think I might get one. Who would I have to kill to find a good salon around here?”

“Eighteen,” Kuririn chided playfully as he grasped her ankle firmly in his hand. “Remember what we talked about: no more rampages.”

She huffed playfully as she pulled her foot away. “You’re just no fun at all.”

*

Kame Sennin sighed as he plucked the fedora off his bald head and wiped off the sweat beading against his withered forehead. The summer heat had hit Mount Paozu hard and even with autumn just around the corner he could tell that the sweltering humidity wouldn’t be letting up any time soon. 

A nostalgic grin curled his lips as leaned back against the sturdy wall of the cabin. It seemed like not long ago their little group had all gathered here in the mountains to watch over Goku the first time she was with child, Bulma having elbowed her way into the situation days before and Kuririn practically insisting that they all needed to be there in order to protect Goku from danger in her vulnerable state. 

Times certainly had changed a great many things. From what ChiChi had told him, Bulma had already stopped by to say her congratulations, having brought her own baby and Vegeta along with her, and had departed just as quickly as she came; Lunch-san was still nowhere to be found, having wandered off on her own to chase after Tenshinhan with, clearly, no of success; and while Kuririn was now well aware that Goku was once again expecting, he had been quick to decline Kame Sennin’s suggestion to check in on her in favor of spending time with his new girlfriend.

“Never thought I’d live to see the day,” Kame Sennin mused to himself as he fiddled with the still wrapped cigar between his fingers.

“Can I fetch ya a light, Sensei?” Gyumao’s voice bellowed as the large man’s bulky figure made its way over to him. 

A small sigh of relief escaped the hermit as his former student sat down beside him on the narrow bench, his large stature easily blocking out the sun’s rays and bestowing him with much appreciated shade. “No need,” Kame Sennin said, waving off the younger man’s offer. “It’s much too hot for such things. Now, I wouldn’t turn down a nice cold beer, if you’re offering.” 

He grinned broadly as Gyumao handed the still cool glass bottle to him, the condensation feeling like a tender kiss against his palm. Kame Sennin offered his former disciple a quick thank you before taking a long, grateful gulp from the bottle. 

“You must be mighty proud,” Kame Sennin mused as he watched Gyumao take a quick gulp, throwing back the contents of the bottle as if it were only a splash against his tongue. “Becoming a grandfather again, that is.”

Gyumao’s laugh was like thunder, the vibrations easily felt in his bones as the mountainous man leaned back proudly in his seat. “Ya can say that,” he said, a broad smile bringing a twinkle to his bespectacled eyes. “It took that son o’ mine long enough to make me another grandbaby, although I can’t much fault him. With a wife as wily as Goku-chan can be, I reckon I shoulda figured it’d take this long.” 

Kame Sennin hummed in agreement as he took another gulp from his bottle. “That’s true enough,” he said thoughtfully. “Goku was always difficult to pin down. It doesn’t come as much surprise that even after settling down she still manages to set off on her own from time to time.”

“Goku-sa’ ain’t that hard ta manage.”

Kame Sennin looked up and watched as ChiChi approached them, his brow coated with sweat and cheeks flushed. It was clear from the dirt coating his boats and most of his lower half that he had just been toiling away in his fields, the proud gleam that only came from a hard day of work shining in his eyes. When Kame Sennin had arrived to extend his well wishes, it had been only Gyumao and Gohan there to greet him, ChiChi having been off to work his farm and Goku fast asleep. Goku had managed to gather just enough energy to share a cup of tea with her old master before being ushered back to bed by Gohan who in turn was sent off to her room to complete the set of drills she had been assigned for the day. He had half expected to leave Mount Paozu without crossing ChiChi’s path, but clearly the young man had made a point to finish his own work quickly in order to see to his family.

“Nice to see you, ChiChi-san,” Kame Sennin greeted as he waved his hand towards the cooler of beer resting at Gyumao’s feet. “Care for a drink?”

ChiChi was quick to shake his head as he wiped his cheek roughly with the thin scarf tied around his neck. “I ain’t much of a drinker,” he confessed. “An’ Goku ain’t the flighty, free spirited type that she seems. She may not be the best housewife, but she keeps the home clean an’ tends ta Gohan jus’ fine when I ain’t ‘round.”

Kame Sennin chuckled as Gyumao quickly replaced the empty bottle in his hand with a fresh one. “I don’t doubt you, ChiChi-san. It’s just hard to imagine Goku-chan as anything other than a wild haired little tomboy with a bottomless stomach and a head only for fighting.”

The young man chuckled, a slightly strangled sound that seemed a touch hesitant as he continued to rub at the sweat trailing down his forehead. “Well, I’m sure that’s what she’ll always be at heart,” ChiChi reasoned, his voice seeming to trail off as if he were searching for something else to focus on.

“Must be that alien blood o’ hers,” Gyumao mused as he took a gulp of his third beer. A small collection of empty bottles had begun to gather at his feet and Kame Sennin had to wonder just how many it would take to satisfy him. “Saiya-what-its are born warriors, ain’t they? I reckon that explains how little Gohan-chan ended up to be so dern tough. Never woulda imagined it, my sweet little granddaughter the strongest woman in the world! This next baby’ll have one heck o’ an act ta follow.”

The comment had been meant as light hearted, but Kame Sennin could tell that something about the words had unsettled ChiChi, his hand seeming to linger a bit too long against his cheek as his eyes continued searching for something. “Well, I’ll be happy so long as this next one’s a boy,” he joked tightly. “I’m outnumbered as it is. I’d like to keep things a bit more… even.”


	5. Mazoku

_The alien was dead. Its final breath had come sputtering forth from between slacked lips and was punctuated by the slimy mixture of blood and spit that came erupting from it after a series of convulsions. It was one less nuisance in his world, one less hurdle to overcome in the path to achieving his ultimate goal. The other nuisance, however, was proving as annoyingly difficult to be rid of as ever._

_On the other end of the field a pathetic wheezing caught his ear, interrupting the otherwise complete stillness and silence that surrounded him. Son Goku was dying. He took a moment to savor that thought. It would only be a matter of time before her loathsome friends gathered the Dragon Balls and brought her back to this plain of existence, but Piccolo took pleasure in knowing that this would be no easy passing for his longtime foe. The gaping hole that his attack had carved in the center of her stomach may have been burned clean through, but it meant that every breath she took, every lingering second of consciousness that she clung to was utter agony._

_Yet the woman seemed to insist on clinging to life, spending her last moments in this world struggling pathetically on the blood soaked grass like the beast she was._

_Piccolo frowned and scanned his surroundings with a critical eye. Most of the field was still charred from the battle. It had been a brief fight, yet one that had come at great cost to all involved. The alien was dead, although not without delivering his own parting gift in the form of impending doom, Son Goku was not long for this world, and Piccolo Daimao’s son had only barely managed to come by his victory by not only aligning himself with his bitter rival, but by having the pleasure of her defeat tarnished with the knowledge that Son Goku had willingly sacrificed herself._

_He sneered distastefully at the still bleeding stump where his left arm had once been, another reminder of the day’s humiliation. In a few minutes he would have gathered enough of his strength to regrow the limb, but that didn’t stop the bitter shame he felt at having his rival see him injured in such a manor. This was not a favorable day for Piccolo Daimao’s heir._

_“G-Gohan…” Goku rasped, her words little more than a guttural grunt forced out from between clenched teeth as she struggled to use her one good arm to drag herself over to the child lying unconscious on the other end of the field. “Go… han…”_

_“Cease your pathetic whimpering, woman,” Piccolo snapped scornfully as he walked over to Goku’s side. “Have you lost all of your warrior’s pride?”_

_He had seen her in this manner before, lying at his feet weak and bleeding, seemingly incapable of defending herself. Back then he had only had the illusion of her defeat, but in this moment he knew her impending demise was a certainty. His sharp ears could hear her heart beat, labored and erratic, and his eyes could see clearly that the woman’s bronze skin had already lost a good deal of color and turned positively ashen with the loss of blood from her body. It would be miraculous for her to survive another hour._

_Son Goku’s face was etched with agony, her jaw clenched tight as her dark eyes struggled to stay focus, yet she did not seem to give the least bit of concern to the fact that the man who had struck the killing blow was currently looming over her. Instead her gaze remained fixed on the child, her one arm out stretched in the small creature’s direction as if she still held to the illusion that she would be able to reach her before her end came, yet the child was several meters away, too far for the woman to crawl given her weakened condition._

_“Piccolo… please…” she wheezed. Water began to fill her eyes which were already growing foggy with lack of focus. “My… my baby... Bring her to me… please?”_

_Piccolo scoffed at the request, yet still found his head turning to the source of their discussion. Even with the distance between them, Piccolo could tell that the child had survived the alien’s attack, a fact that was made all the more clear by the faint sound of her steady breathes that barely managed to travel to his sharp ears from across the meadow._

_“Your child lives,” he informed her coldly. He flexed his right hand at his side and half expected another fist to mimic the gesture. Piccolo frowned and turned his scornful gaze down towards the woman dying at his feet. “Concern yourself not with her. It is your own life that draws to a close.”_

_He was appalled that the woman actually had the audacity to use the lingering bits of strength in her body to laugh, lolling her head skyward and staring unfocused eyes in his direction. “Yup… I’m dead for sure,” she agreed, flashing him a smile filled with bloodied teeth. Yet when she blinked the water slid down her eyes and across her face before landing on the grass below. It was a somber smile, a smile of the defeated and Piccolo could see a part of her was actually content in knowing he had been the one to take her down, even if temporarily. “I jus’ wanna hold her,” Goku confessed as more water leaked from her eyes. “One last time… please?”_

_His lip curled in open disgust at the request and the pathetic voice that had uttered it. For a moment he could not believe that this woman was his greatest foe, that he had been created for the sole purpose of bringing about her demise. When had Son Goku become such a simpering weakling?_

_“Spare me your maudlin blubbering,” he seethed. “What makes you think that I, Piccolo Daimao, would concede to fulfill your dying request? Besides, you and I know well enough your insufferable companions will bring you back to this world soon enough. You will see the child again.”_

_Another strangled chortle escaped from Goku’s blood coated mouth as the haze continued to settle upon her eyes. “I know…” she breathed feeble. “Guess y’ll un’erstan’ sum day… wen ya haf kids o’ yer own…”_

_Delirium had settled upon her and had taken the last remains of Son Goku’s mind. That is what Piccolo had decided in that moment as he raised his foot and brought it down upon the woman’s injured chest. She hissed as he slowly began to apply pressure to what had once been her breast, feeling the fabric of his shoe dampen with blood as her fingers dug into the soil beneath her. The sound of a jet engine approaching reached him, but Piccolo took pleasure in drowning the noise out with the mewling cries of the woman’s agony._

_“Or maybe you really will never see her again?” he taunted disparagingly. “Perhaps I’ll seize that power inside of her for my own. How would you like that, Son Goku? To see the world fall under Piccolo Daimao’s rule, your sweet little ‘Gohan’ a servant under my beck and call, a proud member of the Mazoku?”_

_“Y-ya wouldn’t,” Goku hissed even as she tore her finger nails against the rock below, her teeth practically shattering in response to the pressure applied to her injured chest. “Y-ya ain’t like that.”_

_He huffed and withdrew his foot from its place on her breast, offering her side a final kick as the sound of the jet engine overhead began to roar in his ears. “Think you know what I am?” he spat. “Spare me your familiar tones and be wise to remember who your true enemy is.”_

*

Dende was home sick. Piccolo could see as much from the forlorn way the child gazed down at the world below the Sanctuary. The staff he held in his hand was nearly twice his size and his little hands seemed to cling to it more out of fear than an understanding of what its weight truly meant. 

Piccolo silently cursed Son Goku’s rash decision to thrust this position on the child. Even if she had given him the choice to come to Earth, Dende was still too young to truly understand what being on this foreign planet would mean. Out here he was light years away from his home and family, the only other person who resembled him was little more than a ghost of his past. Yet all the same Piccolo recalled he had once acted just as rashly when he had approached Goku to take on the mantle of becoming Earth’s guardian.

He frowned and touched a hand to his forehead. Those were Kami’s memories surfacing again. It happened less frequent now, going on three months since they had merged, yet they were still troublesome to say the least. It had taken Piccolo a good three years to sort through Nail’s thoughts and memories, pushing them into the back of his mind until they were little more than a faint echo. Yet Kami was a more complicated one, being a more ancient being with hundreds of years’ worth of memories, thoughts, feelings, and dreams to compartmentalize. 

Piccolo had experience with shared memories. When he was created he had inherited his father’s mind, his ambitions and desires to take over the world and see Son Goku dead at his feet being the strongest factors. Yet after he had accomplished the latter, pursuit of the original goal somehow lost its importance as other feelings and desires got shuffled in along the way. 

With a shake of his head he pushed those thoughts aside as he approached the younger Namekian. “Such an uncertain air is not fitting for a Kami,” Piccolo chided, his sharp words drawing Dende out of whatever gloom he had been trapped in. “Stand straighter and remember that you are the guardian of this world.”

Dende looked at him, his wide eyes uncertain and wavering in a way that seemed to imply he wanted to look at his feet. Piccolo watched as the child’s mouth opened as if he were starting to speak, then quickly shut again and instantly Piccolo knew that Dende had been about the call him “Nail.” That too was something that would fade with time.

“I… I understand,” Dende said instead. “It’s just… there are so many people down there. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

Piccolo regarded Dende’s hesitant face and the look of distant longing shining in his eyes. It was times like this that Piccolo recalled that Dende was not only a child, but a child who had come from a race that only consisted of a few hundred, not the millions sprawling across this world. To consider this new position overwhelming was perhaps putting things a bit lightly.

_He needs guidance_ , a distant voice inside of him whispered. _Have patience. Teach him. Show him the way._

It was hard for him to gage if it was Kami or Nail speaking to him, the former being the more likely one since Nail’s consciousness had all but faded years ago, but he knew that there was truth to those words.

“We’ll be having company today,” Piccolo announced as he turned to face the other end of the sanctuary. To the untrained eye there was only an expanse of billowing clouds to be seen just beyond the temple’s ledge, but Piccolo still knew how to look below and see the distant toiling of the beings on the surface. Even from their high perch he could make out the tiny cottage off in the mountains with a family of three residing within its cozy walls. “Goku has charged me with the task of training her daughter.”

Dende’s eyes lit up like the sun at his words. It only took the mere mention of Son Gohan to cause that sort of reaction in the child and Piccolo reasoned he could understand. In Dende’s eyes Piccolo was something of a mirage in the desert, the shadow something familiar that ultimately wasn’t there. Gohan on the other hand was something real and solid for him, a friend to latch onto in an unfamiliar world that made little sense to him. True, Gohan was no Namekian, by all rights her race and gender should cause more confusion in the child than anything else, but Piccolo reasoned that having someone around the same age was still comfort enough.

Not that Gohan and Dende were really a match in age. They were both in their respective race’s adolescent periods, but even without the aid of the day-year she had spent in the Room of Spirit and Time, Gohan was moving ahead of Dende physically. In a few years she would be taller, sturdier, and likely more mentally developed as she shifted closer to maturity, while Dende would just barely be entering the end of his childhood.

“Be mindful,” Piccolo went on, his strict tone causing the joy to flicker faintly in Dende’s dark eyes. “This will be no friendly visit. Gohan will be here to learn under my instruction. Just as you will.”

A touch of color seemed to leave the child’s face as he pinned Piccolo with a look of utter confusion. “Me?” he asked meekly. “But I thought you would be training Gohan to fight.”

Piccolo nodded as he watched from thousands of miles away as Gohan stepped out from inside the small cottage, a heavy backpack resting on her shoulders. Her father was just a few steps behind her, catching the girl just before she could take to the air and offering her a large parcel that no doubt contained her lunch. “The two of you have a shared task,” he elaborated. “Both of you will be in charge of this world in the near future. Gohan must learn to harness the power she had unleashed in her fight against Cell and you must learn to watch over the Earth without fear. There is much for both of you to learn.”

The lost look lingered on Dende’s features, yet still Piccolo determined that it was not necessary to let the child know he felt confident that the two would take to their lessons better if they had company. In the distance he could see that Gohan had finally said her goodbyes and was making her way to the sanctuary. 

“Gohan will be here within the hour,” he announced and the apprehensive look seemed to melt off of Dende’s face in an instant.


	6. Guidance

Yamucha was disappointed to see that ChiChi was home when his plane touched down on the field outside of Mount Paozu. He had known before heading over that there would be more than a fair chance that ChiChi would be around, but he had hoped that, given the hour, he would still be wrapped up in tending to his field. Instead he was standing in front of the house sorting through a hamper of still damp linens, a row of clothes pins tucked between his lips, and Yamucha felt his stomach tighten into a knot. Yet when the wheels of his plane settled upon the grass, he told himself to force his nerves down before opening the hatch door. 

The flash of blue fur in the corner of his eyes reminded him of Pu’ar’s presence as his friend floated out of the cockpit. He was grateful to have Pu’ar with him today even though he had briefly considered leaving his friend behind just hours ago. It was better to have him around as Pu’ar’s presence made things far less awkward.

ChiChi’s eyes locked with his, a faint blush coloring the other man’s face as he stopped midway through his intended greeting in order to take the clothes pins out of his mouth. “Afternoon,” ChiChi chuckled awkwardly as he wiped his hands against the front of his clothes before extending his palm towards the other man. “It’s been quite a while.”

Yamucha did his best to flash ChiChi a genuine grin as he pushed away the memories of their last encounter, when Goku had been writhing in pain in the grips of an illness that had nearly taken her life. That had been months ago, but the memory was still too fresh and a part of Yamucha still recalled seeing the way ChiChi had been in near hysterics as he watched his wife slip dangerously close to death’s embrace. The bitter taste of that thought still sat on his tongue even as he accepted ChiChi’s offered hand with a friendly shake.

“Nice to see you as well,” Yamucha managed to return. “Sorry to stop in unannounced.”

“Oh, it ain’t no trouble,” ChiChi said with a dismissive grin. “Been havin’ plenty of visitors lately. Jus’ ‘bout everyone’s dropped by after word spread ‘bout the baby.”

“We’re sorry we didn’t come sooner,” Pu’ar put in politely. “Yamucha-sama’s schedule has been quite hectic lately.”

“Shoulda figured as much,” ChiChi said, his eyes growing wide with intrigue. “I heard ya were a big shot now, Yamuch-sa’. What’s it like playin’ ball in the city? I betcha get ta travel ta some mighty fine places.” 

Yamucha had to resist the urge to duck his head at the comment. Sometimes he wished that Pu’ar wouldn’t say such things and talk about him like he was a big deal. Yet Yamucha would be lying if he said he completely hated the attention. He chuckled and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well, it’s nothing much,” he said modestly. “We’ve stayed at some nice hotels, but once you’ve run across the planet on foot and trained in the Other World there’s not much that can impress you.”

ChiChi shrugged and gave that look he sometimes wore when fighting was mentioned, a clear sign that he was losing interest. “Well, I reckon you’re here ta see Goku-sa’,” he concluded correctly. “She was nappin’ earlier. I’ll bring ya ‘round back ta see if she’s up.”

Yamucha and Pu’ar followed as ChiChi lead them inside the house, which was just as neat and tidy as ever. “Is Gohan-chan around?” Pu’ar asked as he scanned the living room quickly as they passed through.

They watched as ChiChi’s shoulders seemed to grow tense for half a second, before he forced the discomfort aside. “She’s off trainin’ with Piccolo today,” he told them and then remained pointedly tight lipped on the topic.

When they reached the door to the main bedroom, ChiChi gave it a quick knock before gently twisting the knob and poking his head inside. Yamucha had expected to see the curtains drawn and the room completely darkened, but there was sunlight pouring in from the open windows when they entered, and Goku was sitting perfectly upright in the middle of the bed. She looked a bit tired and sluggish, but not completely drained as she had during the early stages of her first pregnancy and certainly nowhere near as bad as she had during her illness. The sight seemed to be good enough to ChiChi who soon pushed the door open wide enough for Yamucha and Pu’ar to enter.

“Goku-sa’, we have guests,” he announced, his voice catching Goku’s attention.

Goku looked up at them, tearing her eyes away from the book that was spread across her lap and the thought that Goku had actually been _reading_ was far more amusing to Yamucha than it had any right to be. She smiled and marked off her page before sitting upright against the wooden headboard behind her. “Yamucha! Pu’ar!” Goku greeted brightly as ChiChi went around and rearranged a few of her pillows. “It’s nice to see you guys!”

“You’re looking quite well, Goku,” Pu’ar offered pleasantly as he floated over to Goku’s bedside. “How is pregnancy treating you?”

“Rough as ever,” Goku chuckled as she placed a hand to her stomach. She was wearing her night clothes, the fabric soft and thin enough to make the slight swell that had started to form in her midsection easy to see. She gave a soft chuckle and rubbed small circles against her own stomach. “I thought for sure havin’ a second baby would go smoother than the first. When I was this far along with Gohan I was near back to myself, but this one here jus’ wants to keep me in bed all day long.”

“Goku-sa’, would ya like me ta bring ya some more water?” ChiChi asked as he gathered a tray of empty cups and plates that had been resting on the bedside table. 

“Nah, ChiChi, I’m fine,” she said with a small shake of her head. ChiChi planted a quick peck to her cheek before gathering the dishes and taking his leave. Goku seemed to sink down deeper into her pillows once ChiChi had left the room, the bit of energy that had flashed in her eyes draining away. “He’s been jus’ as fussy as ever,” Goku confessed once the bedroom door was closed. “That ain’t changed either.”

“ChiChi always was a worrier,” Yamucha chuckled as he pulled out a chair and sat down by Goku’s side. “It can’t be helped.”

Goku nodded and again Yamucha was brought back to just a few months ago when Goku was lying in his arms, sickly pale and sweating straight through her gi. He had to pry her mouth open in order to pour the medicine down her throat, and even then Goku had managed to cough up more than she had swallowed. Yamucha had done his best to keep a positive edge, whispering encouragingly for Goku to “hang in there” but ChiChi was convinced that they were too late, that the medicine would be no good and that Goku would die in the home he had built just for her. 

“I can’t lose her like this,” ChiChi had choked brokenly. His own cries were hard to make out over Goku’s strangled screeches, but they still rang in Yamucha’s ears. “I can’t have her die on me again!”

Yamucha looked down at his hand and found that he had unconsciously grasped Goku’s fingers in his own. He blushed, but found himself reluctant to let go, instead feeling grateful that Goku hadn’t shaken off his touch. “Do you know what it is yet?” Yamucha asked in the hopes of covering his own embarrassment. 

Goku shook her head. “Not for sure. ChiChi’s hopin’ for a boy this time, but I don’t have the heart to tell him that this baby feels like another girl.”

“Another girl sounds nice,” Pu’ar commented pleasantly. 

“I think so too,” Goku smiled. “At least I’ll know what I’m gettin’ into. I can’t imagine havin’ a boy would be much different from a girl, but at least I have experience with girls.”

Yamucha and Pu’ar laughed politely at that. Gohan certainly had turned out to be a sweet young lady, but they both suspected that had more to do with ChiChi’s influence than anything. “ChiChi-san said you’ve had a few visitors lately,” Pu’ar went on.

Goku nodded. “Bulma came around first,” she told them and Yamucha forced himself not to flinch. “She brought Vegeta and the baby. That was a little awkward. Then the old timer came by a week later. He didn’t stay very long, but I was also sleepy that day so I’m not sure exactly how long he was here.” Goku frowned and shifted against her sheets. “I haven’t seen Kuririn yet. Kame Sennin says he’s been busy with a new friend.”

Again Yamucha laughed as he gave Goku’s hand a tender pat before finally releasing it. “That’s one way to put it,” he chuckled. “He’s been seeing a lot of that cyborg, Number Eighteen? They’re getting along really well, I hear.”

Goku’s eyes widened with understanding, her lips curving into an excited grin, which wasn’t at all the response Yamucha had expected. “ _Oooh_ so that’s what the old timer meant when he said ‘girlfriend!’ I’m glad ta hear that. Kuririn’s been lookin’ to find someone for a while. I sure hope this works out.”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to have your blessing,” Pu’ar giggled and Yamucha took the opportunity to give his side a pointed poke.

It was no secret amongst their circle that Kuririn had harbored a crush on Goku since childhood, one that he had only managed to put away after Gohan had been born. The fact that he was finally moving on with someone new was a promising start, but Yamucha doubted that Goku, as oblivious as she was, truly understood what this new relationship meant. 

“I ain’t seen Tenshinhan or Chaozu ‘round either,” Goku noted, changing the subject without a second thought, “but I suppose that’s only natural. Those two are hard to keep track of.”

Yamucha felt his chest tighten as a firm heat settled across his features. The air in the room suddenly felt terribly thick and too warm to breathe and he took the opportunity to hide his discomfort by standing in order to close the window on the far end of the room.

“Tenshinhan-san came to visit us not long ago,” Pu’ar supplied innocently, his words unwittingly adding to Yamucha’s discomfort as sweat began to pour down Yamucha’s face. “I don’t believe Chaozu-san was with him, though.”

The bedroom window closed with a pointed thud, the glass shaking ever so slightly in response and Yamucha cringed at the knowledge that he had put a bit too much force into the action. The summer air now cut off from the room did little to relieve the heat and Yamucha soon found himself tugging at his buttoned collar as he pointedly cleared his throat.

“Pu’ar? Do you think you could see if ChiChi-san could fix us some tea?”

Pu’ar ears perked up at his words, recognizing the signal they had worked out before heading over. He hadn’t told Pu’ar exactly what it was for, a fact that he felt guilty over, but his friend knew that once those words were uttered that it was time to leave the room.

“Oh. Of course,” Pu’ar said haltingly as he quickly excused himself before leaving the room, making certain that the door was shut tight behind him. 

Yamucha had thought that the privacy would make this situation easier, but instead he found a pressure forming in the center of his chest as he made his way back to Goku’s bedside. He was grateful that Goku didn’t seem to be the least bit suspicious and reasoned that she had no cause to be. After all, they were just two old friends sitting together in a room, but Yamucha felt pointedly low that he had come there with an objective other than to visit his pregnant friend.

“Goku, I’m sorry,” he sighed as he sat down heavily in the wooden chair beside her bed, his clothes already beginning to cling awkwardly to his body in response to the sweat pouring from his skin. “I didn’t come here just to check on you.”

Goku frowned at his words, worry etching her face as she sat upright in her bed, ready to spring into action. “What’s wrong?” she asked somberly, the weight of her serious tone undercut by the fact that she was currently only wearing a nightgown and looked as if she had been sleeping for three weeks straight. “Are you in some kinda trouble?”

“Well, no,” Yamucha said hesitantly as he began wringing his fingers. “Not the kind that you might think. I… I know it’s strange for me to come to you with this sort of thing, but… but there’s really no one for me to talk to.”

He was embarrassed to admit that he actually flinched when Goku’s callused fingers brushed against his knuckles, yet when he looked up and met her gaze he saw only concern in her dark eyes. “Yamucha, you’re my friend,” she told him firmly. “You’re one of the first friends I ever had. There’s nothin’ you can’t say to me.”

It was a surprisingly sobering thing for Goku to say, but in that moment it was exactly what Yamucha needed to hear and he was grateful for it. “I know,” he sighed, “but I need you to promise me you won’t repeat anything I tell you to _anyone_. I mean it Goku, not ChiChi, not Gohan, _no one_.” He waited for Goku to give a firm nod before taking a deep breath and continuing on. “What I’m about to tell you is something not even Pu’ar knows about,” he elaborated in the hopes of buying himself a bit more time to draw up his courage. “The night before the tournament, the one that Cell created?, Tenshinhan and I spent together and… something happened.”

“Didja have a fight?” Goku asked and Yamucha was tempted to tell her to keep silent in order to make this process easier. Yet he decided against doing so, since he was already asking a lot of Goku as it was. 

“No. In fact, it was sort of the opposite,” he said hesitantly, suddenly regretting ever coming to Mount Paozu. Goku wasn’t knowledgeable about things that didn’t have to do with fighting, but she was also someone he could trust and too innocent to really judge and in his desperation she seemed to be the perfect person to confess his secret to. “You see, we started talking and… and I found out Tenshinhan is in love with me.”

Yamucha held his breathe and waited for Goku’s response. He had expected her to laugh, to cry out in shock or disgust in her usual uncouth manner, but instead found himself met with a firm silence that felt far worse than any outcry. Looking into her eyes he saw that Goku was processing what this meant, that she was confused, but didn’t seem to want to let on, likely sensing that the story wasn’t quite over, but Yamucha suddenly wanted her to speak.

Goku shifted closer to him, leaning back against the pillows lining her headboard. After a moment she finally picked up on the fact that Yamucha wanted her to respond and said slowly, “What happened next?”

Holding in the groan welling up in his throat was difficult, but somehow Yamucha managed to swallow it back down as he continued to clench his fingers together nervously. “Well, you see, I didn’t think he had those sorts of feelings for _anyone_ , let alone me, but…” He frowned and shook his head, dread and embarrassment welling up inside of him as he debated just how much of his story he should confess. Again Goku seemed to pick up on his worries and placed her palm top his hand and offered him a reassuring squeeze. It was moments like this that made Yamucha remember that Goku was indeed a wife and mother, had been one for many years, and perhaps he didn’t give her enough credit for just how mature she was. “I didn’t react the way I should’ve,” he confessed at last. “I could’ve handled things better, I know that now, but I was so shocked when Tenshinhan said that to me that, well, I just … left.”

It was hard to tell if Goku completely grasped the gravity of what he was telling her, but Yamucha imagined that she at least understood. “So things got awkward between you after that?”

Yamucha cringed, the pressure on his chest suddenly feeling more vice like and constricting as he sat there under Goku’s gaze. The hand on top of his felt uncomfortably heavy and he felt unworthy to be in this generous woman’s presence. “Yeah,” he confessed at last. “Yeah it did. You see Tenshinhan…” He frowned and considered just how to put the situation into words. “He’s had feelings for me for a really long time an’… I feel awful. Goku, I’m a terrible person!”

“You ain’t terrible, Yamucha,” Goku cut in quickly.

Yamucha frowned and pulled his hand away, no longer able to stand Goku’s surprisingly gentle touch. “What I did was terrible,” he went on. “He opened up to be and I betrayed him.”

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that,” she assured him, her hand finding its way onto his shoulder in order to offer him a supportive touch. “Tenshinhan’s known you for a long time too, and he knows you’re a good guy. I know things are awkward now, but once the two of you get married…”

Yamucha stiffened and instinctively felt himself pull away from Goku once again. “M-married?”

She gave a firm nod, swinging her legs over the side of the bed in order to allow herself to look Yamucha in the eyes. “Yeah, this is how it works, right? He says he loves you, then you get married, build a house, have a baby… Oh, wait. You two can’t have a baby since you’re both boys. Well, that’s okay. I can help you have a baby after I have this one. Oh wait. What am I sayin’? Shenlong could probably make a baby for you. It’ll take another year before the Dragon Balls work again, but-”

“Goku!” Yamucha half shouted half groaned and was grateful that his words had cut off Goku’s rambling. “I don’t think you understand. Tenshinhan and I aren’t dating. We’re not a couple.”

The confused look on Goku’s face was comfortingly familiar even if Yamucha didn’t look forward to whatever questions were likely to follow. “But… he’s got feelin’s for you, don’t he?”

“Yes, but…” Yamucha breathed and glanced back at the door. He suddenly became very aware of just how long the two of them had been in there. It was only a matter of time before Pu’ar or ChiChi came barging in and the last thing he wanted was another person to know about this situation. “I don’t really share those feelings. That’s the problem. Tenshinhan opened up to me and I didn’t take the news well. I gotta turn him down gently, but I think I already messed it up.”

Goku hummed as she crossed her arms and leaned back carefully on her bed. At last she seemed to understand exactly what Yamucha had been trying to get across to her. “That is pretty tricky,” she mumbled thoughtfully and a part of him was relieved to hear that. “Ya know… I didn’t really understand the way ChiChi felt for me at first. It took a while before I really started to get what it all meant…”

“I know what love means,” Yamucha found himself cutting in, his tone perhaps a bit too harsh considering who he was speaking to, but his patience was running thin and this whole situation was making him feel raw and a bit too exposed. 

He didn’t want to spend too much time dwelling on what Tenshinhan’s confession meant, what that vulnerable gaze in his friends eyes was trying to convey. It felt like just yesterday that he had been with Bulma, that the two of them had been together, unstable yet familiar, before things spun out of control and dissolved before his eyes. Now there was this new thing that had fallen into his lap and he didn’t know how to deal with it, didn’t want to deal with it. Yamucha sighed and found his face falling into the palm of his hand. He should have known better than to come to Goku with this dilemma. 

“I’m sorry, Goku,” he said after a while. “I’m just… tired. I’ve been avoiding Tenshinhan for weeks; ducking his calls, making excuses when he drops by, practically hiding from someone I’ve known since I was teenager! It’s a lot to deal with and I just… I just want to put it behind me and be done with it.”

“Well this ain’t somethin’ you can jus’ push aside an’ ignore,” Goku told him, her tone surprisingly sage as if she spoke with utter authority. “If Tenshinhan really does have feelin’s for you, real deep love feelin’s, then he deserves an honest answer from you. It’s probably gonna be even more awkward than it is now to tell him, but it has to get done otherwise you’ll be runnin’ from Tenshinhan forever.”

This time Yamucha did allow himself to moan, his shoulders sinking that much further under the weight of Goku’s words. He wished that his friend had offered him some naïve gibberish that he could toss aside or ignore, but as much as it pained him to admit her advice was sound and deserved consideration if nothing else. “You’re right,” he mumbled into his palm. “I gotta talk to him.”

“An’,” Goku added just as the door began to creak open, “if you two do plan on gettin’ married you could always live here with me an’ ChiChi an’ Gohan.”

“Goku-sa’!” ChiChi groused wearily as he entered into the bedroom carrying a tray of tea and snacks in his hand. “Ya gotta stop invitin’ people ta come live with us!”

Yamucha felt his face begin to redden as he sheepishly glanced in ChiChi’s direction. He could tell from the focused look on the other man’s features that he hadn’t overheard anything incriminating, but that didn’t stop his insides from freezing over at the potentially disastrous possibilities. 

“Ah, but ChiChi, Yamucha already knows how to work the fields,” Goku put in innocently. “He’d be a real help come time for the harvest.”

ChiChi offered nothing but a dismissive shake of his head as he poured a cup of tea and handed it over to Goku. “Yamucha-sa’s a big shot in the city now,” he noted as he went about pouring another cup. “He’s got better things ta do than work our farm. ‘Sides, what’s all this marriage talk, anyways?”

Yamucha flinched, his tongue suddenly feeling like lead in his mouth as ChiChi pinned him with a curious gaze. His head felt as if it were buzzing as he scrambled to come up with something to say.

“Yamucha was jus’ askin’ me ‘bout romance stuff,” Goku put in quickly. “He’s thinkin’ ‘bout datin’ again.”

A weight seemed to lift off of him at Goku’s quick thinking as understanding settled on ChiChi’s features. He turned to him then and offered him a smile that was both supportive and pitying and for once Yamucha didn’t mind the sympathy. “Well, that’s good,” ChiChi said, his words tender and bright as he handed Yamucha the freshly prepared cup of tea. “I’m glad ta hear yer ready ta get back out there.”


	7. Instruction

Gohan felt like her heart was beating a mile a second. Her skin felt warm and tingly, her teeth seeming to rattle in her gums and she clenched her fists tighter, tighter, her finger nails biting into her tender palms as she released her power. She could feel the energy pouring out of her, the hairs on her head standing upright as if caught in a static pull as the fabric of her gi billowed around her from the invisible force. It was fortunate that they were currently on sanctuary that was known as the Heavenly realm since Gohan didn’t know what this power would do to the plants or animals in the lower realm.

“Enough,” Piccolo barked, his words flat and sharp even as the sanctuary trembled around them. “Enough Gohan!”

Gohan listened to her mentor’s instructions, easing the tension in her body and allowing the power flowing out of her to even out. She looked up at him, her eyes locking with Piccolo’s gaze. She had expected to see admiration or satisfaction in her teacher’s eyes, yet found only disappointment reflected back at her. 

“Is this it?” Piccolo asked her, his voice dripping with displeasure, a clear indication that he already knew the answer to his own question. “Is this all that you’re able to muster?”

She blinked, taken aback by the question. Gohan looked down at her hands, saw the now familiar golden glow that went along with her Super Saiya-jin state and thought for certain that she had given Piccolo what he wanted. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she stood hesitantly upright and forced herself to meet her mentor’s gaze. “Piccolo-san…?” she began, but soon found her words being cut off.

“This isn’t it,” Piccolo concluded, his thin lips twisting in disappointment as he stepped towards her. “This isn’t the same power you used against Cell.”

Heat bloomed across her face, not from the effort of maintaining her current form, but from the realization that she had once again disappointed her mentor. They had been training for the better part of the day, trying to draw out the same energy that had come spilling out of Gohan during her previous fight, yet once again they had come up fruitless. Gohan opened her mouth with the full intention of explaining herself, but quickly swallowed her words, realizing right away that whatever point she offered to Piccolo would likely be seen as nothing more than an excuse. 

“How long has it been?” Piccolo asked; the question delivered in a flat manor that made clear that he did not expect a response. “Three, four months perhaps? Not a life time. Not long enough for you to lose your edge.”

Her shoulders drooped with shame as her eyes sank down to the tiled floor beneath her feet. “I’m sorry, Piccolo-san,” she offered. She knew that wasn’t what Piccolo wanted to hear, but the urge to cover up for her own failing was too strong to ignore.

Piccolo let out a short scoff, the sound very close to disgust as he began to walk slowly around her, pacing thoughtfully as the fabric of his cape fluttered and billowed regally behind him. “Keep your apologies to yourself,” he chided. “Son Gohan, you have grown beyond the whimpering child that you once were. You can no longer rely on myself or your mother to protect you. _You_ are the defender of this world, you must stand tall and show nothing short of the utmost confidence in yourself and your power.”

Gohan willed herself to straighten her back as she took in Piccolo’s words even if the truth of the situation sat awkward and heavy upon her shoulder. She hardly had time to fully dwell on the idea of her new found responsibility when something went sailing over her head. Instinct caused her hands to rise up in order to catch the object and soon Gohan found Piccolo’s turban resting in her palms.

She looked up just as the heel of Piccolo’s foot made contact with the center of her chest, the force of the unexpected blow sending her sailing backwards. It was not so much painful as it was shocking, but Gohan willed herself to recover quickly, stopping in midair just as Piccolo came charging towards her. She was ready for his next attack, his long legs swinging upwards towards her head, but she managed to block it with her forearm. She blocked and parried the next few blows as well, but soon found a frustrated groan greeting her ears. 

“Is this all you’re capable of?” Piccolo practically spat. “Fight me!” 

Those words sent Gohan hurdling back in time to when she was just little more than a toddler, surviving out in the wild and learning to fend for herself for the very first time. Her hands instinctively balled themselves into fists as Piccolo’s left arm extended towards her like a python, his claw like nails gleaming in the sunlight as they sped towards her waiting flesh. She didn’t simply bat his hand away this time, but grabbed him sudden and firmly by the wrist, her own nails digging into his leather skin a bit, and offering the elongated limb a good tug. 

Gohan had fully intended to swing Piccolo by his arms like a staff, but was not the least bit surprised when her mentor only stumbled slightly before regaining his footing. His left arm soon retracted into itself, this time tugging Gohan along. She knew that his intention was to strike her once she was in range, but she did not give him the chance, instead choosing to use the momentum to her advantage and delivering a kick to Piccolo’s middle. 

A short chuckle was her reward for the maneuver and a clear indication that their brief exercise had come to an end. She allowed herself to lower her guard, her power returning back to its familiar base as the golden aura faded from her body. “You haven’t completely lost your edge,” Piccolo remarked and it was only then that Gohan realized that he had also discarded the cape and shoulder guards he usually wore before their fight. “But just as I had suspected, we will have to start your training by reviewing the basics. I had hoped that your mother had utilized your stay in the chamber to eliminate your habit of relying on your emotions to charge your energy, but clearly her hand was far too gentle.”

Gohan cringed at the notion that her mother’s training had been anything short of rigorous. They had taken the occasional break to rest and fill their stomachs, but during their year in the Room of Spirit and Time they had trained nearly around the clock. Gohan still recalled several nights going to bed too sore to even properly lift her own sheets, having to rely on Mother to arrange the bedding for her, only to wake the next morning feeling painfully stiff.

Yet Gohan was already very familiar with Piccolo’s own training methods. During the latter half of the year she had spent under his instruction Piccolo had only given her a brief moment to eat and a few bare hours of sleep before continuing the next round of training. He didn’t tend to her wounds beyond what was necessary and hardly concerned himself with making certain Gohan had a comfortable night of rest. That may have been years ago, when Piccolo had still considered himself a demon, but Gohan had a feeling this new round of tutelage would be just as strict.

“Your mother informed me that we will only have a few days out of the week to practice,” Piccolo went on. “I suppose we should be grateful that we’re now in a time of peace.”

Color again settled on her cheeks as Gohan bowed her head in embarrassment at the remark. “Well, Father feels that I’ve already fallen behind on my school work, what with the day-year I spent training for Cell,” she explained. “And with the baby due…”

Piccolo pinned her with a withering look, the pointed arch of his brow a clear indication that Gohan need not explain herself to him. 

She fell silent, sensing already that Piccolo had likely wished for her to do just as Dende emerged from within the inner sanctum. She watched as Dende quickly surveyed their surroundings as he approached them, no doubt looking to see if any repairs would need to be made to the sanctuary after their training, but fortunately for Dende it had only been a light exercise. 

Dende’s eyes soon found their way to her again and he greeted Gohan with a familiar fondness. Gohan smiled at Dende and the jug of water he was carrying in his hands. Her grin widened as he handed the water over to her. “You must have worked up quite a thirst,” Dende said by way of explanation. She had no doubt that he had felt the shock waves of her attempts to regain her previous battle strength. Gohan blushed and took a grateful gulp from the offered jug. “Were you able to make much progress, Gohan-san?”

Again embarrassment settled upon Gohan’s stomach, but she was spared from answering the innocent question by Piccolo’s flat tone. “Not enough,” he said. “We still have a great deal of work to do.” 

Gohan bowed her head and expected Piccolo to say that they would need to engage in another practice round, but instead found that he had slipped back into his weighted clothing. He nodded towards Dende, beckoning the smaller Namekian towards him. Dende went to Piccolo’s side quick and dutiful, only to be pinned with another stern look meant just for him. “You need not wait on her, like a servant,” Piccolo chided, his words causing a look of dismay to flash across Dende’s features. “This is your domain. You are the guardian of this realm. Be mindful of this.”

This time it was Dende who bowed his head and blushed with shame, yet the sight was enough to make Gohan recoil with discomfiture at the thought that she had unintentionally caused trouble for her friend.

“Gohan,” Piccolo began, motioning for her to approach. She did as directed and soon watched as Piccolo lowered himself to the ground, folding his legs beneath himself and crossing his hands over his chest. “We will end our day with meditation,” he instructed. He looked from Gohan to Dende with his usual firm, level gaze and both children realized simultaneously that they were to follow his example. The two sat down on the ground and did their best to mimic Piccolo’s pose. “Close your eyes. Clear your mind of all thoughts. Focus only within.”

Gohan closed her eyes as she was instructed and did her best to empty her mind of her cluttered thoughts. Forcing her mind to quiet itself was difficult, harder than she had ever imagined it would be. Each time she attempted to grasp the idea of nothingness a new thought came floating into the forefront of her mind. 

She wondered if she would be able to regain her power that she found in her fight with Cell, wondered if Mother and Piccolo would be disappointed in her if she could not achieve the ascended state. 

She thought about Father working his farm and how he was no doubt angry at her for being away from home instead of in her room reading over her books.

She thought of her unborn brother or sister growing inside of Mother. She wondered if that baby would have the same powers she had, if they would both be looked at to protect this new, peaceful Earth or if that was Gohan’s burden to bear alone.

“Steady your breathing,” Piccolo instructed, his words cutting through the jumble of thoughts in Gohan’s mind and she wondered if he had sensed her difficulty in finding calm. “Focus on deep even breathes.”

Gohan did her best to do just that, breathing in through her nose and holding the breath for a moment in her chest before slowly pushing the air back out again. She tried to focus on the air around her. They were high in the atmosphere, the air was thin and cold and unpleasant in her lungs, making the task of simply breathing a bit more difficult than it should have been.

“You both have a long road ahead,” Piccolo explained, his voice surprisingly soothing and calm as he spoke with even, measured words. “The task that lies before you may be overwhelming at times, but you will find the control you need.”

Gohan knew she should have kept her eyes shut, but she took just a moment to glance over in Dende’s direction wondering just how he was fairing. Even with her right eyelid slightly opened she was able to see that Dende was also sneaking a glance in her direction. That small, shared act of defiance was enough for the two children to smile quietly at one another before turning back to their appointed task. 

*

It was sunset by the time they made their way back to Mount Paozu. Piccolo knew well that Gohan could have easily made the journey home unaccompanied, but he made the trip with her anyway. The distant voice in the back of his mind that he recognized as Kami’s fading consciousness said that it was just an excuse to spend more time with his disciple, but Piccolo pushed that thought aside and stubbornly focused only on the task of flying.

Piccolo was surprised to find Son Goku outside when they approached the small cottage. Her back was towards them as she focused on her task of removing linen from the clothes line that had been set up in their front yard. For a moment Piccolo wondered if Goku had noticed their approach given how fixated she seemed on the clothes she was currently folding into the hamper at her feet, but when Gohan called out to her in greeting Piccolo knew from the calm smile that Goku offered them that she had detected their ki some time ago.

Gohan was all smiles as ran up to her mother, greeting the woman with a firm hug as if they had been parted for weeks instead of just a few hours. “Mother, you’re out of bed,” Gohan commented, her words colored with a cautious sort of glee as if she were still uncertain on what this discovery meant.

Goku chuckled and easily returned her daughter’s hug, the linen forgotten for the time being. “Yeah, I was feelin’ a bit tired of bein’ stuck in bed all day,” she told her. “’Sides, I figured I’d finish up the laundry while your dad was busy makin’ dinner.”

“I can put the clothes away for you now that I’m back,” Gohan volunteered. She had gathered the hamper into her arms before Goku could even bother to answer, tugging off the rest of the laundry from the clothes line in what seemed like an instant before hurrying back inside. 

Again Goku chuckled, although this time the sound came off a bit wearier than before. “Now I’ve got two of ‘em fussin’ over me,” she joked despairingly as her left hand slipped down to her stomach. 

Piccolo said nothing, knowing already there was nothing much for him to say. He had spent most of his years on Earth amongst its creatures, but things such as the human family’s birthing rituals were still mostly a mystery to him. Namakians did not have to concern themselves with pregnancy. They had their eggs and waited for the child inside to hatch. Humans and Saiya-jins were more complicated creatures and Piccolo only knew that the process was much more involved for them. 

“So, how was it today?” Goku turned towards him with a serious sort of smile and a curious gleam in her dark eyes. 

“She’s just the same as ever,” Piccolo lamented. “Her powers are tied to her emotions. She struggled a great deal. In the end she was not able to tap into the same power she used against Cell.”

Goku hummed thoughtfully as she seemed to unconsciously caress the swell that was growing in her stomach. “I thought for sure she’d learned to control that,” she mumbled. “I guess she just needs more time.”

“It’s fortunate that, for once, we have plenty,” Piccolo returned.

The remark had not been intended as humorous, yet Goku responded to it with a warm smile and a friendly chortle. “Life sure is funny, huh?” she asked. Her demeanor was good natured and light as she placed a sociable hand on Piccolo’s arm. “Who’d’ve ever thought that we’d be raisin’ a kid together?”

Piccolo stiffened at Son Goku’s words, his face growing warm as he pointedly stepped away from her touch. “We are not.”

“Sure we are,” Goku insisted as her hand once again found its way to her stomach. “Pretty soon it’ll be two.”

He huffed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest in the hopes that the act would be enough to distract from the lingering redness in his face. “I think your husband would disagree with that.”

“Well, it’s true, ain’t it?” Goku went on. “There’s no denyin’ that Gohan’s plenty fond of you an’ you care a bunch for her. It’s why you make such a good sensei. I know I can trust you to teach her properly.”

The urge to snap and remind Son Goku that they were mortal enemies not long ago was tempting, but he couldn’t quite find the drive to deny her words completely. There were not many creatures on this planet that Piccolo could say he cared for. Piccolo Daimao had used his last breathe to birth him and thanks to the memories that he had inherited, Piccolo could only see Kami as a nuisance to him. Even with Kami’s memories it was difficult to recall what life before Earth had been like; what clan they had belonged to and what the structure had been. Nail’s memories had all but faded from his mind, but Piccolo still had fleeting glimpses of dutifully staying by the Grand Elder’s side, a station that Nail had likely held for many years. Now there was only Gohan and Dende, two children who had unintentionally been thrust upon him thanks in some indirect way to Son Goku. 

Piccolo huffed and shook his head, mindful that Dende was likely waiting for him back at the Sanctuary. “Tell Gohan to get plenty of rest tonight,” he said wearily. “I expect to see her bright and early tomorrow.”

“You bet’cha!” Goku said brightly. “Maybe if I’m feelin’ up to it, I’ll tag along for a bit.” 

Again Piccolo shook his head. “No, you should stay behind,” he told her. “Knowing you, Son, you’d be too tempted to get involved and no doubt insist on giving hands on instruction. It would be best for you to stay home and rest.”

“Not you too!” Goku groused as she made a show of rolling her eyes. “You’re jus’ as bad as the rest of ‘em.”

Piccolo smirked at the petulant pout that had settled on Son Goku’s features as he prepared himself to take to the air. “Take care,” he offered before lifting off of the ground and heading back to the Sanctuary.


	8. Coffee Break

“Would pink be too presumptuous?”

Vegeta frowned as he turned his gaze towards Bulma. She wasn’t looking at him, but down at the pad of paper where she had been furiously scribbling for the past half hour. She had called him out on the patio to join her for “afternoon tea” as she called it, but he could tell from the smell in the air that she was drinking coffee. The old man and his air headed wife weren’t around, off visiting another relation, and Vegeta suspected that Bulma wanted company. Not that he was much of a companion

“Pink?” he repeated as he glanced over at the paper in front of her. It was still a bit difficult for him to decipher Earth’s written language, but he could at least tell that she was making a list of some sort. 

Bulma nodded as she took a moment to lean back in her chair. She still wasn’t looking his way, her eyes lingering on the hastily written words as she clicked furiously at the tip of her pen. “For the baby shower,” she clarified as if that would explain everything to Vegeta. He watched as she hummed and grabbed her coffee cup, the pen clinking against the ceramic surface as she held both awkwardly in the same hand. “Son-kun told me she thought she might be having a girl, but there’s still a chance it could be a boy.”

Vegeta huffed and turned his gaze back to the horizon where he had been staring. Below them there were dozens of people, hundreds of them, hurrying here and there as if getting to their next destination was an urgent matter. What did these pathetic creatures know of urgency? To them their strongest warrior was a clown with a ridiculous name. They had escaped destruction, yet still seemed to have no real understanding of pain or sacrifice. 

“You’re still on that?” he practically sneered. 

“Of course I am!” Bulma shot back. “Why shouldn’t I be? The last time Son-kun was pregnant, we were all a bit too tense to actually throw her a party. Now that everything is nice and calm it’s only right that we celebrate.”

Vegeta shook his head at that. He didn’t know Bulma very well, but he knew for certain that she wasn’t nearly as charitable as she liked to seem. He had overheard the old man once speaking about taking in stray animals, heard Bulma speak about how a portion of their company’s earnings went to charity, but Vegeta saw through these gestures for the performances that they were. The family liked to present themselves as kind and good, but the truth of the matter was that they gave just to show that they could, that they had the means to do so while others out in the world struggled to get by. He supposed this was a show of strength in its own way. 

“What do you think?” Bulma went on between sips of her coffee. “Pink or blue?” She hummed and took another sip. “Perhaps something neutral like yellow or green?”

Vegeta frowned and pressed his bare palms against the rail of the balcony. He had stopped wearing his training clothes a month ago. There didn’t seem to be much sense to it anymore. Even with the gravity chamber rebuilt there were no challenges to be found, now with Kakarotto laid up as she was. Bulma had even dismantled the space ship, claiming that she wanted to “improve” a few things, but Vegeta knew that it was her way of ensuring he stayed in one place. Not that Vegeta was fully intent on wandering. Somehow he doubted that there was anything out in space to interest him.

The sounds of a soft voice reached their ears, a clear sign that Trunks was beginning to stir from his nap. Vegeta turned towards the bassinet where the baby had been resting. It would still be a few more years before Trunks could begin his training properly. If they were still on Planet Vegeta, Trunks likely would already be stationed on some remote world in the midst of eliminating whatever life inhabited its surface. Yet here on Earth, mothers kept their infants close by their sides, fussing over them every hour of everyday and monitoring their movements even at night. 

He watched as Trunks’s chubby legs shifted beneath the blanket that had been draped over his body, his eyelids fluttering periodically in the midst of sleep. It reminded him a bit too much of another sight that he wished to forget, yet seemed burned into his mind.

“Vegeta, come drink your coffee!” Bulma said insistently as she made a show of pouring him a cup, as if that simple task were a burdensome act that he should be eternally grateful for her preforming. “Stop standing there like a scarecrow.”

Vegeta huffed and stepped away from the balcony, grasping the edge of the bassinet in his hands in order to pull it closer to the table where Bulma had been sitting. The gesture seemed to be enough to make her smile, a sight that Vegeta pointedly looked away from as he pulled out a chair and sat down.

He wondered if all Earth women were so obsessed with coffee or if it was something particular to Bulma’s family. The woman’s mother also seemed quite keen on the drink, always offering to brew Vegeta a pot or prattling on about the different blends and roasts she had obtained at some exclusive shop. He supposed it was just another way the family liked to show off their wealth. 

Bulma’s smile turned soft as she glanced over at the bassinet and Trunks’s still sleeping face. He could see that her hand was tempted to reach inside and tickle the boy’s chin as she often did, but she was wise enough to know better than to wake a sleeping babe. “Look at my cute little man,” she practically gushed as Vegeta reluctantly drank from the mug she had poured him. He didn’t understand why she enjoyed drinking such warm beverages in the sweltering heat. “I bet Trunks-kun is excited about the new baby, too.”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Vegeta scoffed.

“Of course he does! He’s brilliant just like his mother.” She paused in her gushing in order to grab her mug and take another sip of her coffee. A sly grin began to cross her features as a thought seemed to settle in her mind. “What if Son-kun really does have a girl?” she asked. “She could be Trunks-kun’s little girlfriend.”

The words struck Vegeta like a bolt of lightning to the brain and he felt his fingers tighten around the mug until it shattered in his palm. “ _What_?”

Bulma chortled in delight, a clear indication that Vegeta had reacted in just the manor that she had envisioned he would. “Maybe they’ll be the ones to save the Saiya-jin race after all!”

“Stop sprouting such senseless dribble!” he snapped as he wiped the coffee from his hands. “My son would _never_ -”

The sound of pointed whimpering reached his ears as Trunks was brought out of his peaceful slumbers. Vegeta expected Bulma to scold him for waking the baby, but she was still too wrapped up in her own amusement and continued to giggle even as she reached into the bassinet in order to soothe Trunks.

“There, there,” she said brightly as she scooped the baby into her waiting arms. “Don’t be scared. Papa’s just being silly. You can date whoever you want, Trunks-kun.”

Vegeta felt his face burn as he stood quickly, the sudden gesture causing the flimsy plastic chair to tip over in response. “You listen to _me_ woman,” Vegeta seethed.

Again he was interrupted, this time by one of the servants that lurked within the compound. She poked her head out the house and looked apologetically between them. “Excuse me, Bulma-san,” she began pleasantly. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Be gone, wench!” he barked and was pleased by the way the woman’s already fair skin turned even whiter in response to his tone. “I am not done speaking to my woman!”

“ _Vegeta_!” Bulma cried out in a mixture of anger and horror. The shrill sound of her voice was enough to make Trunks cringe and cry harder, but Bulma only seemed to distantly acknowledge this. “What is wrong with you? You don’t talk to people that way!”

It wasn’t the first time he had yelled at one of Bulma’s servants, but it was probably the first time he had done so in her presence. He had always assumed that this was the same manor that the rest of Bulma’s family used when dealing with their help. Clearly they were just as soft as the other humans. 

Vegeta sneered and stomped away from the patio table. The small servant woman recoiled at his approach, slamming her back awkwardly into the sliding glass door as she scrambled to get out of his way. The slight display of fear was pleasant to witness, but it did little to dismiss the foul mood that had been thrust upon him. His mood darkened when he re-entered the dome like compound and saw Kakarotto standing there.

It had only been a month since the last time he had seen her, but already Kakarotto had grown larger. Her stomach protruded from her more, a sight that was emphasized by the fact that she was wearing comfortable, flowing clothing, made to accommodate her changing figure. Vegeta had never thought much of the clothes that Kakarotto wore for battle; they were impractical and bulky and offered no strategic benefit when engaged in combat, yet they were better than these soft, comfortable garments that she had adorned herself with.

Vegeta gritted his teeth and marched up to the woman a gesture that he was dismayed to find resulted in Kakarotto smiling pleasantly at him. “You,” he barked, his hands balling into fists at his side. “Keep your half-breed, mongrel brat away from mine!”

Kakarotto gave no response to that as she stood in stunned silence, blinking owlishly at Vegeta’s words. He didn’t offer her time to recover as he roughly pushed past her in order to seek out the elevator.

*

Goku smiled at the sight of Trunks playing in his pen on the other side of the room. She watched as he lifted the brightly colored xylophone in far corner of the playpen and began studying it with a surprisingly critical eye. He was a bit bigger than Gohan had been at that age and Goku suspected that it was just an inherit difference between baby boys and baby girls.

“It feels like ages since you last came to visit me,” Bulma said brightly as she re-entered the sitting room, a tray of hastily assembled snacks held in her hands. Most of the sweets were still wrapped in plastic and the glass of ice tea looked surprisingly light and lacking in ice, but Goku already knew that Bulma wasn’t really used to playing hostess, especially not when her mom wasn’t around. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you wanted me to build you your own gravity chamber.” 

“Nah, I ain’t gonna be doin’ no trainin’ any time soon,” she chuckled, framing her stomach with her hands in order to accentuate her point. Her belly was just getting round enough to accommodate all ten fingers comfortably, but Goku knew from first-hand experience that there was still a long way to go. “I know better.”

Bulma laughed and handed her a glass of iced tea. “So someone finally learned her lesson, huh? I guess you’re not feeling as young and spry as you did back when you were a dumb pregnant kid.”

“That ain’t it,” she said dismissively. “This pregnancy ain’t so bad. It’s a _little_ rougher than when I was carryin’ Gohan, but I’m jus’ a bit tired, that’s all.”

Bulma frowned and gave her that sour, calculating look she often pinned Goku with when she was upset about something Goku said. Goku hadn’t been around when Bulma was carrying Trunks, her usually attention hungry friend had kept her pregnancy remarkably quiet under the guise that she wanted to “surprise everyone,” and for the first time things were calm enough that Goku had time to really think about what that might have meant. She wondered if Bulma had been sad or lonely during her pregnancy, if carrying her first child hadn’t been the rich fulfilling experience she’d imagined it would be. Vegeta hadn’t been around, that much Goku knew for certain, and whether Bulma wanted to admit it or not, she was a few years older than Goku, many years older than Goku had been when Gohan was born, so surely that must have made things difficult. Yet Goku knew that asking people about themselves wasn’t one of her strengths and thought better of questioning Bulma. If her friend had anything to reveal to her then Bulma would share it when she was good and ready.

“You know, I was surprised when the receptionist brought you up,” Bulma commented, moving on and filling the room with conversation once more. “Usually whenever you travel now you just… _pop in_.”

Goku smiled, knowing right away that Bulma was referring to her Instantaneous Movement. “Yeah, well, I came the old fashion way.”

“You flew?”

“I took Kinto’un,” she corrected. “I coulda flown or teleported, but I figured ChiChi wouldn’t like that.”

Bulma hummed. “So ChiChi…?”

“Wasn’t home when I left,” Goku finished as she stirred the ice around in her glass. “He’s off workin’ the field with his daddy an’ Gohan’s off trainin’ with Piccolo today. I was bored so I decided to drop by. There are chores to do at home, but I’ve been stuck in bed for weeks an’ I jus’ wanted to step out.”

“So you decided to drop by and spend the afternoon with me and Trunks?” Bulma practically preened. “I always knew you had good taste deep down inside, Son-kun.”

Goku laughed before taking a sip of her drink. It was just as bitter and watery as she had suspected. “Hope ya don’t mind. I didn’t think Vegeta-”

“Oh don’t mind Vegeta,” Bulma huffed with a pointed scoff. “He’s just being an ass, as usual!”

“That’s a shame. There were a few things I wanted to ask him.” Bulma frowned curiously at that and Goku once again pressed a hand to her stomach in order to make things a bit clearer. “I wanted to ask him a bit ‘bout Saiya-jin babies an’ stuff.”

“Oh,” Bulma mused thoughtfully as she stirred some sugar into her own glass. Clearly she knew without tasting that she hadn’t added enough beforehand. “Well, I’m not sure how useful he’d have been in that area.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“Well, he was just a boy when his planet blew up so there’s probably a lot about Saiya-jin history and culture that he doesn’t really know,” she clarified. “Plus, from what little he’s grumbled, it doesn’t seem like Saiya-jin’s spent too much time with their parents during their younger years or have babies very often, so this is probably an area that he’s even less familiar with.”

Goku hummed as she considered Bulma’s words. For a moment she wondered if this was something Bulma had thought about for a while. She certainly did seem to come up with her points pretty quickly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she sighed as she placed her glass of tea back on the table, having given up on the idea of drinking any. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I had one baby before so I’m pretty familiar with how all this works. I can’t imagine that this baby will be all that different.”

Bulma smiled brightly and nudged the snack tray closer in Goku’s direction. Goku did her best not to let her reluctance show too clearly as she grabbed one of the small cakes from the table. She never really had much of a taste for sweets and knew that the packaged ones were always particularly sugary, but she took one anyway because Bulma clearly wanted her to. She unwrapped a chocolate cupcake and bit into it, the cream filling gushing into her mouth the second her teeth sunk into its soft flesh. Goku did her best not to cringe or grimace at the saccharine flavor and silently longed for a bowl of stir fried noodles or a plate of steamed pork buns.

“I haven’t seen Kuririn in a while,” she ventured once she has forced herself to chew and swallow the rest of the cake. “Have you heard from him?”

“He’s busy with his new girlfriend,” Bulma tittered as she waggled her pinky in the air pointedly. “They came by here not long ago. They make a surprisingly cute couple.”

Goku smiled at that and decided to take a sip from her glass of bitter lukewarm tea in order to wash away the chocolate flavor. “That sounds nice.”

“But I’m surprised he hasn’t gone to see you yet,” Bulma went on, her amusement fading away as a frown settled upon her features. “I told him about the baby not long after ChiChi called me. I would have thought for sure he’d drop by Mount Paozu by now.”

“I guess its jus’ like you said: he’s busy with his girlfriend.”

“But that’s no reason for him to be ignoring his _best friend_ ,” Bulma said indignantly as she got to her feet. The sudden gesture caused Trunks to turn his head and stare at her. He stood on his chubby legs and clung to the side of his playpen expectantly, only to be over looked as Bulma marched over to the phone resting on one of the end tables. “I oughta give him a piece of my mind.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Goku said dismissively just as Bulma’s fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the phone. “The baby’s not going nowhere no time soon. I’m sure Kuririn’ll drop by when he has the time.”

Bulma only continued to frown even as she took a reluctant step away from the phone. “You’re too forgiving, Son-kun,” she sighed. “Fine. I’ll let him off the hook for now. But if he doesn’t show his face around there in another week, you let me know.”


	9. The Escape

Kuririn squirmed as he felt his skin prickle. His face felt warm and no doubt was currently bright red. He had to fight to keep his hands firmly in his lap as Eighteen’s slim fingers continued to trace absent minded patterns on the top of his scalp. She was torturing him, he knew it, because Eighteen often touched his head or his arm or his back or his chest whenever she was bored, his reactions a form of malicious amusement to her. Not that Kuririn really minded, because she never touched him like that when other people were around and he did crave her touch like a dying man in the desert craved water. 

“How long have you been bald?” she asked conversationally although Kuririn had a feeling she wasn’t really interested in the answer, it was just pretense. “Do you really like having your head look this way?”

He swallowed against the emptiness in his throat as he debated with himself on whether or not to put an end to this. Kame Sennin was inside “napping” as he had told them, and Kuririn wasn’t quite sure where Umigame had gone off to, but he had a feeling they weren’t as alone as Eighteen thought they were. “I… I started shaving when I joined the temple as a child,” he explained, his mouth suddenly feeling particularly dry as his fingers found their way into the folds of his pants. “It was … a practical move.”

“Practical?” Eighteen echoed curiously as her palm pressed against the top of his skull, her fingers splayed out against his dome as if she were getting ready to grab him and lift him off the ground. 

“Y-yeah,” he stammered. “Nothing to grasp… in combat that is.”

She hummed low and thoughtful as she brushed the pad of her thumb against his forehead. He knew for certain that she was feeling the burn marks on his head, testing the roughness of the small patch of skin against her own. “Were these practical too?”

“A sign of dedication,” he said in a rush of breath. Kuririn sighed and glanced up at the late summer sky, the sun hanging directly above them. They were hidden beneath the shade of a beach umbrella, but Kuririn hoped that if someone came and stumbled upon them he would be able to convince them that it was only the heat making him so red.

“But you’re not a member of that school anymore,” she pointed out idly. “You’ve been training under the old man’s guidance since you were a teenager, haven’t you? Why keep the burns? Why keep your head shaven?”

A deep heavy breath fell from his lips as Kuririn searched his mind for an answer, only to come up empty handed. He had considered letting his hair grow out before, it certainly would have saved him a great deal of grief and ridicule, yet the thought of doing so didn’t seem to sit well with him. Kuririn closed his eyes and remembered the way Goku used to pat the back of his head in friendly teasing, the way she would slap his cleanly shaven skull and call him a pachinko ball before laughing in her usual oblivious way and suddenly letting his hair grow out was the furthest thought from his mind.

“I’ve always kept it this way,” he said as he gently grasped Eighteen by the wrist and pulled her hand away from him. “I don’t think I could change so suddenly.”

Eighteen made a small noise as she pulled her hand back towards her side of the table. “Change is always sudden,” she said as she used her now free hand to rest her cheek against. For a moment she was silent as she seemed to fight against something before finally coming to a sudden decision. “Let’s go somewhere,” she said. “Take me to a movie. I haven’t seen one in a while.”

“A movie?” Kuririn said thoughtfully as he considered the nearest island with a theatre. “Okay. Okay we can do that. I, uh, I just need to grab some money from inside.”

Eighteen nodded as Kuririn hurriedly pushed himself away from the table, the beach chair he had been lounging in collapsing awkwardly to the sand in response to his too rapid movements. He ignored the fallen seat as he hurried inside and up the creaky porch steps.

When he entered the sitting room he came upon Muten Roshi wide awake and watching television. He wasn’t engrossed in his usual work out show, but seemed to be peacefully watching some news program their antenna had managed to pick-up.

“I see you’ve finished your nap, Muten Roshi-sama,” Kuririn said by way of greeting, his cheerful words gaining the attention of his old master. “Eighteen and I will be heading off soon.”

Muten Roshi turned and regarded him and Kuririn caught the sight of the lit cigarette in his hands for the first time. The old man smiled benignly at him, smoke drifting from between his lips as he did so. “My, my, the two of you really have been hitting it off lately, haven’t you?” he observed with genuine affection before turning back to the television. “It’s certainly is nice to see you so happy and enjoying yourself, Kuririn.”

Kuririn grinned, his chest filling with a sort of lightness at his sensei’s words. Muten Roshi had certainly been a vocal supporter of his relationship with Eighteen, but Kuririn had always suspected that it was purely from a shallow desire to see Eighteen around the island sunbathing in her swimsuit. It made his heart feel warm and bright to know that the old man was genuinely happy for him and gave the relationship his blessing.

“Muten Roshi-sama,” he began, but was interrupted when the old hermit turned back to him, the set of his jaw holding a strange sort of sternness to it.

“Just remember Kuririn, new love is a wonderful thing, but don’t let it blind you to the rest of the world.”

Kuririn frowned at this, his mood suddenly shifting at Muten Roshi’s cryptic words. “I don’t…”

“Bulma called not long ago,” he informed him from his spot on the sofa. “She says you still haven’t seen Goku-chan.”

The blush that settled on his face wasn’t nearly as pleasant as it had been just moments ago and Kuririn suddenly regretted saying anything to his sensei. “Muten Roshi-sama, I’ve been with Eighteen,” he reasoned. “And Goku… Goku has her family. She doesn’t need me.”

The old man chuckled to himself as he took a leisurely drag on his cigarette. “My how times have changed,” he mused. The smoke gathering around him had by now formed into a dense sort of cloud, but Muten Roshi did not seem to mind. “You sang a very different tune just ten years ago.” 

Kuririn said nothing as the cigarette smoke began to sting his eyes, water gathering and obscuring his vision as he walked briskly up the stairs in order to retrieve his wallet. When he returned to the lower level of the house, Muten Roshi stayed silent as well, seemingly engrossed in the report being played on the television as he neglected to comment on Kuririn’s departure.

He stepped back out into the sunlight and found Eighteen waiting for him. She wasn’t lounging at the table anymore, but standing with her back pressed against the pink wood frame of the house. At a glance her face looked as impassive as ever, yet Kuririn had spent enough time with her to sense the edge of displeasure radiating from her. 

“When we went to visit your friend in West City, you told her that you were going to see Son Goku,” Eighteen said. He could tell from her tone that Eighteen was annoyed, but Kuririn would have thought that she would have been relieved that he hadn’t seen Goku since it was clear that Eighteen still had some hard feelings towards her. 

“You were ease dropping,” Kuririn said uselessly as he stuffed his wallet into his rear pocket.

Eighteen turned and pinned him with a pointedly frosty look, her mouth set in that way that said she wanted honesty, because Eighteen had a surprisingly low tolerance for lies and Kuririn reasoned he could understand. “You told the old man you’ve been too busy with me to see her,” she went on. “I don’t want to be your excuse.”

“You’re not.”

“Then why are you avoiding her?”

Kuririn frowned and turned away, his gaze drifting towards the sea and the remarkably small waves that splashed upon the shore. He didn’t want to think about Goku, didn’t want to talk about Goku. He enjoyed being with Eighteen because when he was with her the world felt smaller, like there was only the two of them and all the problems seemed impossible to manage fell away. It was a strange, selfish thought, but one that Kuririn wanted to hold on to because his life had always been so chaotic and strained and for once he wanted things to be simple.

“It’s… complicated,” he said at last, knowing instantly that the answer would not be good enough for Eighteen.

“What’s complicated?” she countered in a voice that was part challenging and part curious. He could tell without looking that she had stepped forward and that her eyes were boring into him, scanning his stiff posture for answers.

“Goku,” he said and was not surprised by the pointed scoff that Eighteen let fall from her lips. “Things with Goku… they’ve always been complicated.” Kuririn frowned and shook his way at the clutter of thoughts fighting their way to the forefront of his mind. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The silence that followed his words was pointed and surprising. He had expected Eighteen to probe some more, to push until he caved in and gave her a direct answer, but instead he sensed she was starting to with draw. “I haven’t been to the movies in a while,” Eighteen said instead. “I don’t know what’s good anymore. You can pick what we’ll see.”

Kuririn knew right away what she was doing, knew that Eighteen was offering him a chance to let the subject drop and as grateful as he felt he was also tired. The day felt ruined and wrong now and a part of Kuririn just wanted to be alone. “I… I don’t think I’m up for a movie right now.”

“Then let’s go somewhere,” Eighteen suggested. She stepped forward, walking past Kuririn and towards the shore, her sandal clad feet stepping dangerously close to the water as she scanned the horizon. After a moment of silent thought she turned and pointed towards the western part of the sky. “Let’s go there. We’ll fly that way and see what we find.”

Kuririn already knew that there wasn’t anything worth exploring in that direction, just empty ocean, but a directionless flight sounded better than sitting awkwardly through a movie he didn’t really want to see. 

They took to the air, soaring high above the sea until the ocean looked like just a blanket of blue and Kame House a speck that quickly vanished when they pushed themselves towards the horizon. The air felt warm and good against his skin, filling his lungs with salt and emptying his mind as the clouds formed and disbursed before his eyes. He could feel Eighteen’s gaze shift his way every now and again, but she remained only a silent presence by his side. 

It felt like they had been flying for hours before they spotted land again, a small island chain with nothing on it except rocks and grass. They landed and watched the sun shimmer across the water, sitting in companionable silence as crabs scuttle against the sand.

“I remember my name,” Eighteen said at length, her voice surprisingly soft as she broke the stillness between them. 

Kuririn turned to her and stared, startled by the revelation. Eighteen had told him before that her mind had been wiped when Gero had taken her and her brother and Kuririn had thought for certain that meant everything was gone. He waited silently for her to go on and after another moment of heavy silence he thought for certain she had changed her mind about opening up to him, but instead she just took a moment to sit up straighter as she smoothed out the fabric of her capris. 

“It’s Lazuli,” she confessed.

“Lazuli?” he repeated.

She nodded.

Kuririn turned this new information over in his head. He never would have expected that sort of name for her. It was at once appropriate and ill-suited and placing that new name to her familiar face seemed so strange.

“It doesn’t fit me anymore,” Eighteen said as she tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. 

“Are you sure?” Kuririn asked. “Lazuli is a pretty name.”

“I’m Eighteen now,” she concluded firmly. “It’s less complicated.”

“Oh,” he whispered as a warmth that had little to do with the sun settling upon his face.

“We don’t know each other well, but I’d like to change that.” Eighteen shifted against the patch of sand she had settled down on. Little grains were starting to stick to the white fabric of her clothes, ruining and staining the material, but she didn’t seem to mind. “It doesn’t mean we have to rush into this or talk about stuff that’s complicated or awkward. We’ll get there soon, but it doesn’t have to be today. Today we can just sit here on the beach and look at the ocean.”

Kuririn smiled, his blush turning softer as he tucked his feet comfortably beneath himself. “We do that a lot,” he joked.

Eighteen shrugged. “We do, but it’s nice.”

She lifted her hand and slipped her slim fingers against his palm. They were so thin and deceptively delicate, but they could crush every bone in his body like a dry twig, yet she only gave his palm a slight squeeze between twining their hands together. He brushed his thumb against her smooth skin and decided to give the idea of growing his hair another chance.


	10. Battle Preparations

_Solitude had been hard to come by as of late. Being stranded on a planet the size of a small island meant that things like privacy and seclusion were now a rare luxury. Yet Tenshinhan knew well that he was more fortunate than most. Given the choice between eternal torture in Hell, being a vessel-less soul in Heaven, or training under the guidance of a god, he knew that he was one of the more fortunate ones._

_Wandering over to the planet’s southernmost point, Tenshinhan felt confident that he was secluded from the other occupants of the tiny world. He sat down against the grass, legs folded beneath himself and hands resting poised in his lap, he prepared his mind for meditation. The past few days had been chaotic and Tenshinhan found it ironic that even in death the stress of the living world still made itself known._

_Tenshinhan took a breath, long and slow through his nose and gradually out his mouth, and prepared to empty his mind. It felt like it had been an eternity since he had last meditated, the small realm’s powerful gravity being too much of a distraction for him to properly achieve clarity, but he had been on Kaio-sama’s planet long enough that he no longer felt burdened by its immense pull and was finally able to concentrate._

_He took another breath and closed his eyes, his only thoughts centering on stillness and silence._

_Tenshinhan let the air go, expelling the chaos and cluster that had surrounded him before breathing deep the cool air of serenity._

_He took a few more breathes in this way, in calm and out with the chaos, until he felt properly still and focused._

_Tenshinhan found himself starting to drift and rise off of the ground, his body feeling tranquil and light as his mind filled with peaceful quiet._

_Another presence reached him and Tenshinhan found his third eye opening to regard the new comer. He spotted Yamucha’s form just beyond the horizon which meant he was just a few yards away. Yamucha must have sensed Tenshinhan’s gaze as he soon turned and glanced in his direction._

_The two shard a companionable yet somewhat awkward silence as Tenshinhan did his best not to blush under Yamucha’s gaze. They had grown comfortable in each other’s company and the tension that had once lingered between the two had long passed, but Tenshinhan felt certain that a part of him would always be a little awkward in Yamucha’s presence._

_Yet Yamucha must have mistaken his gaze for an invitation as he began to leisurely walk over to his side. “I hope I’m not intruding,” Yamucha said cautiously, pointedly slowing his pace._

_“No,” Tenshinhan answered as he found himself sinking back towards the grass. “It’s fine.”_

_Yamucha nodded and sat down beside him, graceless and heavy. He sighed, tucking his feet beneath his legs as he gazed out at the dense sea of yellow clouds above them. “I keep thinking,” Yamucha began conversationally, “why isn’t she here yet?”_

_Tenshinhan frowned at the words. “Who do you mean?”_

_“Goku,” he said, speaking the name as if it were painfully obvious. “She died when Namek blew up, so why isn’t she here with us?”_

_Tenshinhan followed Yamucha’s gaze towards the clouds above them. Beyond those yellow clouds lay Hell, a thought that Tenshinhan still had trouble wrapping his mind around. When Enma-Daio had passed judgment upon him, he had offered Tenshinhan the chance to enter Heaven and wait there to be resurrected, but Tenshinhan had declined without hesitation in favor of receiving Kaio-sama’s training. He wasn’t the sort to sit idle when there was a chance to better himself. Son Goku was the same way, yet she wasn’t there growing stronger with them or displaying her newly honed skills. There had to be a reason for her absence._

_“Perhaps,” Tenshinhan ventured, “she couldn’t come back. Maybe Kaio-sama’s training is a one-time privilege.”_

_“I suppose you could be right.” Yamucha hummed, considering Tenshinhan’s words as he stretched his legs out against the grass. “I wonder how long it’ll be,” Yamucha went on has he leaned back and rested his weight on his elbows. “Until we’re back home.”_

_Tenshinhan considered this, because now that he knew he and Chaozu would both be able to return to the living world he no longer shied away from such thoughts. “If they use Earth’s Dragon Balls, we may have to wait another year,” he mused. “But Namek’s Dragon Balls…”_

_“It all depends on how long a Namekian year would be,” Yamucha concluded wearily. “Hopefully it’ll be a short one.”_

_Tenshinhan nodded, because even he was starting to get tired of the monotony of the afterlife. He reasoned that things were just either too foreign or too tranquil on the tiny planet. It was never hot in Kaio-sama’s realm, as there was no sun to warm them and the air was forever still, no breeze ever passing over to cool them. The temperature always remained tepid and pleasant, and Tenshinhan found that he didn’t care for it. He longed for a brutal heat or a frigid cold to sharpen his nerves and test his endurance, but that sort of climate was not fitting for the dwelling of a god. Never would he have imagined himself growing weary of a world where he was free to train to his heart’s content, but he was also no one to stay in one spot for long and the thought of spending another month trapped on the tiny planet felt exhausting._

_“When I get back home, I’m going to set things right with Bulma,” Yamucha confessed._

_Tenshinhan stayed silent as he found himself unable to respond to the unexpected comment. He wished that Yamucha had said anything else or just stayed silent. It was hard for him to talk about romance. Love and relationships were still such foreign things to him, yet Yamucha and Goku were both dedicated martial artists who seemed to find a way to make room for romance in their lives. Tenshinhan couldn’t understand how they did since love and budo seemed like two contrasting things._

_“We’re getting older,” Yamucha mused, continuing on as if had taken Tenshinhan’s silence for encouragement, “and our lives are too chaotic for us to keep dragging our feet. The next time I die could be the last.”_

_“That’s true,” Tenshinhan reasoned because it would be foolish to think they could rely on Namek’s Dragon Balls again. They would have to be careful in the future and train even harder for the next battle. “But do you really think …,” Tenshinhan began, but thought better of his words. Yet it was too late as Yamucha turned and pinned him with an expectant gaze Tenshinhan shifted in open discomfort. “It’s not my place.”_

_“We have nothing, but time,” Yamucha offered. “Feel free.”_

_Despite Yamucha’s good natured demeanor, Tenshinhan still felt himself hesitate. It wasn’t his place to pass judgment about things he had no knowledge of, yet he had painted himself into a corner and felt certain there was no way of backing out._

_“I was just thinking,” he began reluctantly, “your relationship with Bulma has always been so difficult. Are you sure that you really want to…”_

_“I know it may look that way,” Yamucha cut in, an air of defensiveness had already grown around him even as he maintained his casual stance. “But our relationship isn’t as combative as you might think. Bulma’s very … passionate and she communicates her feelings very passionately. And sometimes… I just don’t handle that passion effectively and we end up at odds.”_

_It was a practiced speech, Tenshinhan was certain of it, but it was also clear from the way Yamucha spoke that he didn’t quite believe his own words._

_Tenshinhan frowned, not certain what to do. He knew very little about love and romance and knew just as little about people, but he knew Yamucha. There had always been a strange tightness in his chest that took hold of him when he was near Yamucha. In his youth he had mistaken that feeling for anger, but as the years went by the tightness had grown into a tingle, which became a warmth, which Tenshinhan now knew was a feeling he had once thought to be impossible for someone like him. He wanted a lot of things for Yamucha and from Yamucha, but most of all Tenshinhan wanted him to be happy and Tenshinhan wasn’t at all certain this thing with Bulma could make Yamucha happy. Yet Yamucha was still determined to try and he was no one to stand in his way._

_Resolved in his decision, Tenshinhan closed his eyes and folded his hands into his lap. He had considered sharing his feelings with Yamucha many times, certain that unburdening himself of this secret would offer him some relief, but even now as they waited in a land of death to return to life, Tenshinhan felt restrained by the living world’s worries._

_He focused his energy on steadying his breathing, taking calming breathes in and out until Yamucha finally seemed to understand that their conversation was over._

*

Tenshinhan sighed as he tapped his fingers against the payphone’s metal siding. The restaurant he had ducked into wasn’t exactly full, its empty tables accentuating the stillness and silence within and making the ringing on the other line all the more deafening to listen to. In that moment he wished for a crowd to come rushing inside in order to better camouflage him, but Tenshinhan knew this restaurant well enough by now to be certain no such relief would be coming.

The payphone offered no privacy beyond the small bit of wooden shelving mounting it to the wall and holding the phonebook beneath its base. He stood near the rear of the restaurant, a few paces away from the restrooms with only a wall separating him from the kitchen and a part of Tenshinhan wanted to blame that for why his face felt so flushed, but he knew it wasn’t true.

The phone gave one final ring before cutting off with a pointed click, a clear indication that the answering machine was about to pick-up the line. Tenshinhan sighed as he listened to the recording that had now become far too familiar to him. He felt like a foolish child as he allowed his forehead to collide with the paint chipped wall. They had been stuck in this empty little town for weeks now just so he could make these pathetic calls and each time they would go unanswered. He debated over whether or not it would be worthwhile to leave another message, but soon the recording ended and he found himself listening to a shrill beep that meant it was his time to speak. 

“Yamucha, it’s me,” he said in a low, weary tone. Just a few feet away Chaozu was eating noodles and dumplings, completely oblivious to the fool Tenshinhan was currently making of himself, and he would like to keep it that way. “I’ve been calling, but… you’re not answering. I just wanted to tell you…” _I’m sorry,_ he considered saying, but found himself unable to do so. Instead he just stood there silently and contemplated hanging up. Yamucha was clearly screening his calls and would no doubt delete this message just as he had likely done to all the others. He sighed and pressed a hand to his face. His cheeks were flush with embarrassment and he could actually feel the salty grain of sweat on his skin. He was unquestionably a truly pathetic sight. “I just wanted to say… I’ll stop calling.” 

The words had tumbled out of his mouth without thought, but once they were spoken he felt certain that it was the right thing to say. He stood straighter and made to hang up, the phone now just inches away from the cradle when a small voice reached his ears. 

“Tenshinhan-san?”

His already flushed face burned with recognition as he pulled the phone back to his ear. “P-Pu’ar?” he found himself stammering. Tenshinhan cleared his throat and started again, forcing himself to speak in his usual calm, even manner. “Pu’ar, I was calling for Yamucha,” he explained needlessly. “Is he there?”

“I’m afraid not,” Pu’ar said apologetically. “His team made the playoffs. He’s been on the road with them.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. “I see.”

Tenshinhan was tempted to ask if that had been the reason why so many of his calls had gone unanswered, but he knew better. Yamucha had been avoiding him for months now and this new development was just helping to make the process easier.

 _You know this and yet you’re still trying to reach him,_ he thought bitterly as he ran a hand over his smooth scalp. “Do you know when he’ll be back?” 

“That all depends on how well his team does,” Pu’ar said with a proud chuckle. “And knowing Yamucha-sama they’ll no doubt make it all the way to the series.”

“I see,” he sighed. “Thank you.” 

The phone slipped back onto the cradle with a heavy click as he stepped away from the booth feeling uneven and out of sorts.

Tenshinhan didn’t understand why he was doing this to himself, why he was trying so hard to connect with Yamucha when it was clear that the other man wanted nothing to do with him, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to just leave things be. He closed his eyes against the memory of his tactless confession. Tenshinhan had wrestled with his feelings for years, holding them deep inside and agonizing over just the right moment, just the right way to unburden himself and reveal the truth only to have it all come spilling out one night over a few drinks by the fire. The memory of the startled look in Yamucha’s eyes was still burned into his mind, the way he had at first chuckled awkwardly before falling pointedly silent when realization settled upon him still made Tenshinhan feel cold and hollow. It had all turned out just as poorly as Tenshinhan had feared and now Yamucha wouldn’t even speak to him.

Their friendship had started off in the worst way, but they had managed to build a bond of trust and understanding. Now that bond was in danger of crumbling into nothingness.

He made his way back to the table where Chaozu had been dining in peaceful solitude. His plate of dumplings had been cleared and only a bit of broth lingered at the bottom of his noodle bowl. “Did you make your call?” Chaozu asked, curious yet completely devoid of suspicion. Chaozu had no reason to be suspicious, because even if Tenshinhan hadn’t told him what they were doing in this town, visiting this restaurant again and again at the same time each day Chaozu would never question any of it.

“Yes,” Tenshinhan said quietly as he struggled to keep the somber note out of his voice. The last thing he wanted was for Chaozu to know that he was upset, because his friend would only bombard him with questions in order to resolve the issue. Yet there was nothing that Chaozu or anyone else could possibly do to fix this.

He frowned thoughtfully as his hand touched the coin purse at his hip, feeling the weight of the change lining the bottom as a thought entered his mind. It was a long shot, but if he took a chance it may work out, because there was only one person he knew who would not only have some knowledge in this area, but always found a way out of situations that seemed utterly hopeless.

Tenshinhan spared a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that the payphone was still unoccupied. It would look suspicious to get up again, but he was just desperate enough not to care. “I, um,” he fumbled awkwardly as he fished out another coin. “I need to make one more call.”

He could feel Chaozu’s eyes on him, his gaze lingering and no doubt filled with confusion as Tenshinhan made his way back to the payphone. He found his hands going stiff for a few moments as the recalled the number that he rarely ever used in his head and gave one last effort to talk himself out of this. Yet his mind was already made up and Tenshinhan had always been the stubborn sort. He gave one final groan before punching the numbers into the phone and waiting.

The line rang only twice, before picking up, the sound static filled and a touch metallic as a polite young voice greeted him.

“Gohan,” he greeted as courteously as he could manage. It was embarrassing to have the girl answer, but he reasoned it was slightly better than ChiChi. “It’s Tenshinhan. Is… is your mother home?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered brightly, seemingly unfazed by his hesitant tone or the strangeness that he would call their home given that he had never done so before. “I’ll go get her. One moment please.”

The line went silent, the static and faint buzz the only things keeping him company as he waited. For a moment he considered backing out, because if he hung up now it would be easy to forget the whole matter. Yet if Gohan had already told Son that he had called for her, it was likely that Goku would use her Instantaneous Movement to locate him and see what the matter was. He sighed in resignation just as another voice came on the line. 

“Hello?” Goku greeted, her country drawl present even in the single word.

“Son,” he greeted. “It’s me.”

Goku laughed, her voice just as loud and boisterous as ever and Tenshinhan wondered if he had somehow wandered into a joke. “So it really is you!” she chortled. “I thought Gohan was pullin’ my leg when she said you’d called. How’ve ya been, Tenshinhan?”

Tenshinhan flushed and glanced over at Chaozu. He wasn’t looking at him, but instead seemed preoccupied with the television mounted to the far wall of the restaurant and Tenshinhan was grateful that his friend had found a distraction. “Fine, I suppose,” he answered. He frowned and realized that he should at least attempt to be cordial before barreling into his problems. “I, uh, I heard that you were expecting another child.”

“Yup, I’m pregnant again,” Goku said proudly and Tenshinhan suspected that she was rubbing her stomach. “Baby’s gettin’ big an’ full of energy, but I bet that ain’t why you called.”

If at all possible his face turned redder and Tenshinhan actually found himself ducking his head in embarrassment. “You know me too well, Son.”

“Well, it ain’t hard to figure. You never called before an’ you aren’t the social type. So I figure you’re either callin’ about trainin’ or about Yamucha.”

His heart seemed to stop dead in his chest, the urge to hang up surged through his arm as his mind scrambled. “Ya-Yamucha?” he stammered then reminded himself to watch his next words, because he hadn’t been caught just yet and to say too much would certainly incriminate him. “What makes you think I would be calling about him?”

“I saw Yamucha a few weeks back,” she told him. “He said you two had a talk months ago an’ it didn’t go well. He was plenty nervous and wanted to talk about it. Has he seen you?”

Tenshinhan’s mind felt foggy and uneven, because Yamucha had gone to Goku about this instead of him. He frowned, suddenly feeling more frustrated than embarrassed as he adjusted the phone in his hand. “What… what did Yamucha tell you?”

“Now, now, we’re all friends. I ain’t judgin’. Yamucha told me what you said, but he told me not to tell no-one, so I didn’t, but I figured it’d be okay to talk about it now since it’s you an’ all.”

Tenshinhan didn’t feel any better hearing that Goku knew the details of his embarrassing declaration of love, but reasoned that she would have found out anyway. “Son…I don’t know what to do,” he confessed, laying all the cards out on the table. “I need help. Yamucha won’t talk to me. He’s been avoiding me for weeks.”

Goku hummed, the sound oddly thoughtful. “I’m disappointed, but I ain’t surprised. Yamucha’s always been nervous about this sorta thing. It figures he’d be duckin’ you instead of takin’ this head on.”

“What do you think I should do then?”

Again Goku hummed and Tenshinhan could almost see her biting her lip and holding her chin as if that would somehow make the thoughts come together faster. “Well you need to talk, that’s for sure.”

“But I don’t want Yamucha to feel like I’ve cornered him.”

“True, but it’s gotta be done,” she reasoned. “You gotta go into it like you’re going into a fight: plan for every possibility and practice ‘til you’re ready.”

Tenshinhan frowned, because what Goku was saying had actually made a good deal of sense and somehow he hadn’t been expecting that. “But how will I even get the opportunity to do all of this if he won’t even see me?” 

“You’ll have to get ahead of him. Find out where he’ll be an’ go there.”

Pu’ar’s comment about Yamucha’s team being in the playoffs suddenly floated back into his mind. It would be easy to look up the team’s schedule and see what city Yamucha would be playing in next. Yet it still felt too much like sneaking up on him and cornering Yamucha into speaking, which wasn’t what he wanted. Catching Yamucha off guard was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place and pushing further would likely make things worse. Yet Yamucha wasn’t giving him much of a choice.

“I’ll have to consider it,” Tenshinhan said at last. “Thank you Son. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a moment and comment on the passing of Hiromi Tsuru. Like many American fans, I wasn't exposed to the Japanese track first, but once I heard the original cast I couldn't go back. For many years Hiromi was the definite Bulma voice to me as she was to many fans of the series and I'm sad to know we won't ever hear her talented portrayal of such an iconic character ever again.


	11. Insecurities

“A baby shower?” ChiChi echoed into the phone as he tapped his pen against the pad of paper he had been writing on moments ago. He had only been half listening to his conversation with Bulma, his mind too focused on the task of preparing a list of supplies that they would need to remodel the cottage. Adding an extra room for the baby was proving to be a tricky task and even with his father’s help, ChiChi was still having a bit of trouble getting the project together. When Bulma had called, her voice all excited and filled with its usual note of self-satisfaction, ChiChi had expected it had been to brag about a new invention or gush over something baby Trunks had done, not to tell him about a party being planned in his wife’s honor. “Isn’t it a bit… soon?”

Bulma’s smug chortle carried into his ears, her voice a touch static filled thanks to the weak reception that had always afflicted Mount Paozu. “Oh ChiChi-san,” Bulma said in that good natured condescending tone of hers. “You and I both know that Son-kun’s baby will be born sooner than any of us think.”

“I reckon yer right,” ChiChi sighed. 

Just as before, Goku’s pregnancy was developing faster than it had any right to and ChiChi now knew they had his wife’s alien blood to thank for that. She was only three months along, but appeared closer to five. In no time at all, their new baby would be out in the world. They had gone to see their old midwife in the mountains, the woman greeting them with warm, familiar smiles and happily asking just how the young couple had been fairing since they had seen her last. It was during that visit that they had confirmed that this second baby would indeed have a tail as well, but this time Goku and ChiChi had been prepared for this discovery, having already decided that should this child develop an extra limb they would have it removed soon after the birth. Things had been blissfully peaceful these last few months and the last thing they needed was to add the threat of moonlight induced transformations.

ChiChi leaned back in his chair and glanced out the kitchen window. From across the yard he could see Goku sitting beneath the shade of a large tree, a plate of pork buns resting in her lap, as she watched Gohan exercise. Gohan had finished her studies early that day and ChiChi had allowed her to have the light, post academic work out under Goku’s supervision as a reward. It was a better option than letting Gohan fly off to see Piccolo. ChiChi smiled at the sight of Gohan delivering sharp punches to an invisible foe while Goku basked comfortably in the shade, offering advice and praise from between her food stuffed lips. A sense of pride settled into the center of his chest. Somehow his daughter had managed to become such an accomplished young woman right before his eyes.

“Where were ya plannin’ on havin’ the party?” ChiChi asked as he pulled his attention back to the phone call. Goku’s ears were quite acute, but he felt confident about speaking openly given that she was currently outside focused on two of her favorite activities: eating and training. “Much as I’d like ta host, we’re a bit busy with remodelin’ right now.”

Again Bulma laughed, but this time it was much quitter and a touch more bemused. “No need to worry. I was planning on holding the festivities at the Compound, that way it’ll be much easier to keep it a surprise.”

ChiChi allowed himself to chuckle, already imagining the look on his wife’s face when they showed up at Bulma’s fancy home in the city to a room full of goodies and food. “I certainly do appreciate that, although I can’t help but feel a bit guilty at havin’ ya go outta yer way.”

“Oh, don’t be silly! Son-kun is practically family so it’s only right that her generous ‘big sister’ treat her to a good time every once in a while.”

He smiled at the comment. “That’s jus’ the sorta thin’ I’d expect ya ta say, Bulma-sa’.”

“Of course, I’ll take care of everything. I’ve hired five different restaurants to cater so that Son-kun can have plenty of options to choose from.”

“Are ya sure five’ll be enough?” ChiChi joked. “She is pregnant an’ all. Plus Gohan-chan’s appetite has started ta take after her Ma’s! They both eat like wild horses now.”

“Y’know, you might be right,” Bulma said thoughtfully and if ChiChi didn’t know better he would have sworn that he heard the woman writing something down on her end of the line. “Five restaurants may be too few. Vegeta’ll be there too and we’ll have his Saiya-jin appetite to deal with as well.”

“Ya mean…?” ChiChi began, but stopped himself. He should have known that the other alien would be there. Vegeta lived with Bulma now, if ChiChi understood things correctly, so it would be only natural any party Bulma hosted would involve him in some way. ChiChi frowned and wrapped his fingers around the coiled phone cord, the gesture causing his pen to get caught in the tangle. “Who else were ya plannin’ on invitin’?”

Bulma laughed, but this time there was a note of nervousness to the sound that ChiChi didn’t like. “Oh, the usual crowd,” she said, the casual tone of her voice clearly forced and ChiChi could practically see her shifting uncomfortably with the phone in her hands. 

“Meanin’?”

“Well, Kame Sennin of course and Kuririn, too. I suppose he’ll bring his new girlfriend along. Have they been by? Because Kame Sennin told me…”

“Bulma,” ChiChi warned testily, his grip on the phone growing tighter the longer it took for the woman to get to the point.

“Tenshinhan and Chaozu, too, of course,” Bulma went on, continuing to dance around the issue. “And I suppose I’ll have to invite Yamucha, even though that’ll be a bit awkward for me.”

ChiChi hummed, allowing Bulma the courtesy of acknowledging that much. They hadn’t seen Yamucha since he had dropped by to extend his congratulations and ChiChi wondered if Bulma was aware that Yamucha was looking to meet someone new. He pushed the thought aside, remembering there were more pressing matters to focus on. “Jus’ say it, Bulma-sa’,” ChiChi grumbled wearily. “Yer plannin’ on invitin’ Piccolo, ain’t’cha?”

“ChiChi-san, I know he’s not your favorite person-”

“He _killed_ my wife! _An’_ he kidnapped my little girl!” he snapped, resisting the urge to pound his fist against the table, although his fingers had already balled themselves into a fist. He could feel the plastic of the pen snap in his grasp, the ink inside of the shattered body spilling out onto his palm. No matter how long he had known these people, ChiChi still couldn’t wrap his mind on how forgiving Goku and her friends could be. They were all so quick to forget the past and push aside things, because how could anyone forgive a man who had tried to take over the world?

“But he’s Son-kun’s friend!” Bulma countered as if that made everything right. “He’s wronged her more than anyone, but she forgave him. If she can manage to overlook his misdeeds, then why can’t you?”

ChiChi sighed as he uncurled his fingers from his tightly wound fists. Sure enough there was a mess of blue ink spreading from his palm straight to the tips of his fingers. He stood and walked towards the trash, disposing the broken plastic casing that had once held the pen before moving over to the sink. “I love my wife, Bulma-sa’, but she’s too forgivin’ for her own good.” _An’ so are ya,_ he was tempted to add, but chose to keep that last part to himself. Instead he just watched as the water poured down from the faucet’s spout and onto his hand, the ink and water mingling together as a stream of blue disappeared down the drain.

“I know,” Bulma conceded. “She’s naïve and trusting and always willing to see the good in people, but the fact of the matter is she’s never really wrong about this sort of thing. Besides… you know Gohan-chan’s fond of Piccolo, too. It’d make her happy to have him there.”

ChiChi frowned, his eyes flickering towards the window once more where he spotted Gohan sitting cross legged on the grass beside Goku, the two of them sharing the plate of buns and laughing freely. They were a naïve pair his wife and daughter, but he loved them with every fiber of his being no matter how foolish they could be. He sighed and looked towards Goku’s stomach, just round and full enough to be noticeable even from a distance. 

_Please be a boy,_ he prayed to whatever deity was listening. _Please,_ please _take after me!_

“I reckon,” he began reluctantly, “I could put up with it. Jus’ for one day.”

-

“Whoa boy! She’s kickin’ up a storm.” Goku laughed and placed a hand on either side of her stomach, patting her belly playfully as the baby within her began to squirm and move about. “She knows her big sister Gohan’s near.”

Gohan smiled and finished off the last pork bun, stuffing its soft white wrapping into her mouth before crawling closer to Goku’s side. “Do you really think the baby knows me?” she asked as she stared openly at Goku’s belly, the swell of it clear against the blue fabric of her Cheongsam. 

“Of course she does!” Goku said confidently as she rested her hands near the base of her stomach. “She can hear your voice an’ gets plenty happy when you’re around. This baby knows her sister’s a real great girl.”

Gohan laughed, her face turning pink as she bowed her head and looked away. “Mother you’re just saying that,” she chuckled sheepishly.

Goku smiled and tugged at Gohan until the girl collapsed against her. She pressed a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head and then wrapped an arm around her body, drawing her closer still. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ that ain’t true.” 

They giggled and curled together beneath the tree, the sun already sinking into the sky and relieving them of the fall heat. Goku looked down at Gohan and remembered when she had once been a tiny creature growing inside of her stomach just like this baby. Back then she had been so convinced that Gohan was a boy that she had listened with rapt attention as ChiChi rattled off a new list of boy names every night before bed, never once thinking to question his assumptions. Now Goku felt confident that this new baby was a girl, a feeling deep inside whispering this to her with every kick or push she felt, although ChiChi still clung to the hope that he just might get his heir this time around. 

Goku kissed Gohan’s cheek before pressing her nose against the girl’s spikey hair. When she had been Gohan’s age, her grandfather had already been dead for a few years and she had been living alone out in the mountains. She hadn’t thought much of it back then, but she was glad to know that Gohan wouldn’t grow up like that, that she would have a home and a mom and a dad and now a little sister to take care of her as she grew up.

Closing her eyes, Goku recalled how close she had come to dying just a few months ago. When Cell had pulled that dirty stunt and threatened to kill himself along with the rest of them, Goku had known instantly what she had to do. She had used her Instantaneous Movement to take Cell to the Other World where he couldn’t harm the Earth or her friends and family and for one brief moment Goku had considered just staying there, taking the blast and letting it kill her because maybe Bulma was right and all the bad things that happened to the Earth happened because of her. Yet that thought had only lasted an instant before she found herself grabbing Kaio-sama, Bubbles, and Gregory and taking them back to Earth with her.

It still made her feel a bit knotted up inside at times, the thought that she had almost left, that she had actually considered leaving Gohan and ChiChi behind. If she had died and stayed dead there would be no more moments like this and no baby kicking up a storm in her belly and that thought made her feel sad. Her eyes were a touch burly as she tightened her hold on Gohan, a gesture that did not escape her daughter’s notice. 

“Mother, are you feeling alright?” Gohan asked, her dark eyes swimming with concern as she pressed a hand to Goku’s arm. 

“I’m fine,” Goku told her, willing herself to make it true as she continued to blink away the tears in her eyes. Being pregnant always made her extra thoughtful and emotional, but Gohan didn’t need to know that. “Just a bit tired.”

That may not have been the best thing to say as Gohan began to untangle herself from Goku’s embrace, concern etched all over her features as she got to her hands and knees. “Do you need to go back inside?” 

“No, no, your mom’s fine,” she assured her as she gave the ground beside her a firm pat. “It’ll be a bit longer ‘til dinner’s ready. Spend some time with me and watch the sunset.”

Gohan looked hesitant at first, but eventually she decided to do as Goku directed and settled back down beside her on the still warm grass. “Mother, do you really think the baby’s going to be a girl?”

“Yup,” Goku said instantly. “She feels like you did, but a bit different. She’s … spunkier.”

Gohan giggled at that. “But if she’s different, then how do you know it’s not a boy? Father says the baby could be a boy.”

Goku chuckled. “Your daddy thought _you_ were a boy, but we both know how that turned out.”

They both shared a laugh at that and Goku was pleased to find the somber mood brought on by her gloomy thoughts was already lifting. She smiled and leaned back against the trunk of the tree watching the sky slowly start to change color. 

“Mother,” Gohan asked quietly, drawing her gaze away from the orange clouds drifting in the sky. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything,” she said without hesitation, her tone light even though her interest was piqued. She could see from Gohan’s posture that something was wrong. Her body was oddly tense and her eyes were downcast in a way that put too much focus on the blades of grass beneath them.

“Have… have you ever been scared… when there’s no danger around?”

Goku frowned and touched a hand to Gohan’s knee, studying the girl’s features and silently willing her daughter to look her way. “Gohan-chan, did somethin’ happen?”

“No, it’s not that,” she said, her words quick, yet reluctant. “It’s just… you’re always so sure of yourself and… My training with Piccolo-san’s not going the way I thought it would. I thought I’d be able to control my power by now, but it’s been two months and I can’t find it.” Her voice grew smaller and softer as she spoke, the words coming out in a tight rush as if admitting this truth was a task she wanted to put to an end right away. “I know you said that I have to be strong now, that I have to protect everyone, but… I don’t even know how to control my own power.”

A weight hit Goku in the center of her chest and suddenly the baby stopped its excited kicking. She sighed and gently shifted herself closer to Gohan’s side, turning to better face the girl. Pressing a hand to her daughter’s chin, she gently lifted Gohan’s face until they were eye to eye. Goku could see the unshed tears causing Gohan’s uncertain gaze to grow red as her lips quivered. It was just like the fight against Cell all over again.

“Gohan-chan, do you have any idea how amazin’ you are?” she asked her sincerely. “You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met an’ you’re strong to boot! But more than anythin’ you’re young, so very young. I know your daddy an’ I keep puttin’ pressure on you, but that’s only because we believe in you. We want you to be everythin’ that we see you can be an’ maybe that ain’t always fair, but I guess that’s jus’ what mommies an’ daddies do.”

“But Mother-”

Goku cut off Gohan’s pleading words by pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose and touching a hand to her cheek. “You don’t hafta carry the whole world on your shoulders,” Goku went on. “That’s why I’m havin’ Piccolo teach ya. Maybe you won’t learn to control that power today or even tomorrow. Heck, it took me months to learn how to control my power when I first turned into a Super Saiya-jin.

“Sides, soon as this baby’s outta me, you know I’ll be back to trainin’ like usual. I ain’t about to let you have all the fun.”

Goku watched as Gohan nodded, a small smile curling her lips, but the gesture didn’t quite reach her eyes as the nervous air continued to pour from her. She sighed and gave her daughter’s side a reassuring pat. “You ain’t ever gonna like fightin’ as much as I do,” she told her. “An’ that’s okay. It’s okay for you to be different from me, it’s what makes you special. It’s just like I said when you were a little bitty baby; you’ll be whatever you wanna be.”

“Thanks Mom,” Gohan whispered softly. “And I do like fighting. Maybe… not all the time, not when it’s scary, but I enjoy being strong and being able to protect people. That’s what I really want to do; help people.”

“Then that’s exactly what you’ll do,” Goku concluded. “An’ no matter how you do it, you’ll be great at it.”


	12. Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that this chapter is on the short side and the next one will be rather short as well.

_Kuririn frowned as he forced his eyes shut and willed his mind to empty itself of all thoughts in the hopes of meditating just as he had learned back at the temple. His thoughts were all a jumble and his limbs seemed to be permanently sore, making the simple act of sitting cross legged with his arms folded over a chore. He had been trapped on this island for weeks now, but the growing frustration in his belly made the time feel that much longer._

_“Kuririn!”_

_Pressing his back firmly against the base of the tree, Kuririn did his best to ignore the world around him and focus only on the bark. The island was small and after days of endless, grueling training under Muten Roshi’s diligent instruction he felt confident that he knew every inch of the land scape quite intimately. Yet a tiny island with a ridged schedule meant there nowhere to hide and little time for solitude. Even sneaking off from the recently relocated Kame House had been difficult, because Muten Roshi kept them on a strict schedule and even if they were a company of four, someone’s eye seemed to always be upon him day and night. Kuririn could only hope that he had succeeded in finding a hiding place secluded enough that he would be able to spend the brief time between the day’s chores and dinner alone._

_“_ Kuririn _!”_

_He found his teeth gritting together at the sound of Goku’s voice, distant, yet shrill and persistent. His fellow disciple had become a constant presence in his world, much to Kuririn’s dismay. Everywhere he went there was Goku. When he ate his meals, when he delivered milk, when he swam across the lake, when he plowed the fields, when he read his books, there was Goku. Laughing and smiling and chattering nonsensically._

_He took in a long breath through his lips, held it deep into his lungs, before pushing it all out again. It did nothing to clear his mind or expel the tension building inside, but Kuririn gritted his teeth, clenched his hands and tried again._

_When he had left the Orin Temple to set off on his own in order to find the legendary Muten Roshi Kuririn had been certain that no one else would be there, that no one in a dozen or so generations had even aspired to be taken under the wing of the man known as the god of martial arts. Yet Goku had already been there, far too chummy and confident and already likely to get to learn at the sage’s hand. Kuririn’s ambitions had been dashed before they had even been allowed to properly take shape and that alone irked him to no end._

_Even the honor of being taken under Muten Roshi’s tutelage had been soured by Goku, because Kuririn would never have accomplished the goal without her aid. Kuririn felt his jaw tighten until his teeth began to ache because try as he may he could not best Goku, could not out run her, could not out smart her (for long), couldn’t even beat her in a hand to hand fight!_

_Yet if Goku’s presence during his days was not irksome enough she had started to find her way into his unconscious life as well. He thought of her too often, more than he would like to admit, and night after night Kuririn had found himself waking up tangled in his sheets and sweating profusely at the thought of her._

_Kuririn wasn’t delusional and knew he was no pure hearted saint. He was a young man and he had the usual thoughts of any boy his age, yet he had been so certain that his tastes were better than this! Son Goku was not his type, she was grubby and annoying, boyish in both manner and appearance, and dumb as a bucket of rocks! Yet when he laid down at night he would close his eyes and try to imagine Lunch’s womanly figure only to find his traitorous mind wondering what Goku’s lips would feel like pressed against his own._

_His heart was already thumping at the very notion even if he told himself that Son Goku was his rival, that she was juvenile and dull and… smelled like sunshine._

__No! Don’t do this! _he lamented quietly to himself. He couldn’t let this happen, couldn’t allow someone like this distract him from his true goals._

_Kuririn wanted girls, real girls! Soft girls who wore dresses and makeup, who giggled demurely and curled their hair, who bathed regularly and didn’t crush rocks with their bare hands!_

_“I found you!”_

_He opened his eyes just as Goku’s arms found their way around him, her deceptively heavy body slamming into Kuririn and sending them both crashing towards the ground. Kuririn groaned in open frustration as his stomach slammed into the thick root of the tree and his cheek scrapped against the twigs littering the uneven ground._

_“Goku!” he groused miserably as he twisted beneath Goku’s weight. Her body was lean and longer than his, but she felt like a fallen branch that had the misfortune of landing on top of him. “What are you doing? I was trying to concentrate.”_

_“Gramps told me to come find you,” Goku told him, oblivious to the pain that Kuririn was currently in as she laughed brightly in the face of his misery. Fortunately, she had enough sense to roll off of him without Kuririn having to ask. “It’s supper time.”_

_Kuririn groaned and pushed himself off the ground, brushing dirt and grass from his clothes. They weren’t necessarily any worse off than they had been before, having already been ruined by the day’s training, but it was irritating none the less to have a new tear added to his pants thanks to Goku’s thoughtless ways. Kuririn could only hope that Lunch would be in a pleasant mode and offer to mend them for him after dinner. “Couldn’t you have told me without tackling me?” he grumbled._

_Again Goku laughed, the sound annoyingly ape like, but at least she had the decency to offer him a hand._

_Kuririn started to reach for her, but hesitated, his face suddenly growing warm at the thought of having Goku’s fingers tangled with his own. He already knew that her touch would not be gentle, that her stubby fingers were rough and calloused, but he did not want to have her palm pressed against his, warming his hand with her skin. Instead Kuririn huffed pointedly in order to cover the embarrassment as he climbed awkwardly to his feet and started back towards the house. Clearly he would have to think of a new hiding place._

_“Wanna race back home?” Goku asked as she came to walk beside Kuririn, her longer legs making it easy to catch up with him. It irritated him how similar they were in height, Goku sometimes looming an inch or two over him, but he supposed that it was just the natural way given their age. Kuririn’s only comfort was that in another year or so he would no doubt be the taller one and be able to look down on her._

_“What’s the point?” he asked, yet Goku hadn’t waited for his response, already sprinting towards the little pink house just beyond the hill._

_Kuririn groaned and took off after her, despite knowing already that she was the faster of the two, and silently told himself that he would squash this crush where in stood. He would not allow himself to fall in love with a girl like Son Goku._

*

Kuririn sighed and turned the card over in his hand. On its cover there was a picture of a stork carrying a bundle of cloth that dangled from his beak as it flew across a clear blue sky with a cartoon sun smiling in fond approval in the far corner. The card had been sent from Capsule Corp, but Kuririn knew what it all meant, that the shower was for Goku and his stomach twisted itself into a firm cord at the thought.

“That Bulma really is something,” Muten Roshi chuckled to himself as he clicked his chop sticks together. “Makin’ plans for Goku-chan when the baby won’t be due for some time now.”

“Yeah,” Kuririn said weakly as he turned the cardstock paper over in his hands. The party was still quite a few weeks away, but it felt overwhelmingly close. “Well… if this baby is anything like the last one…”

The old sage hummed knowingly at the unfinished thought. “True enough,” Muten Roshi agreed as he gathered the noodles lingering in his bowl with his chopsticks. 

It was another meal of instant ramen and coffee and not for the first time Kuririn found himself missing Lunch and her cooking. He wondered distantly where she had gotten off to over the years. Kuririn could still recall the last time he had seen the blonde haired Lunch. She had grabbed a duffle bag full of hastily assembled belongs and marched out the door declaring that she would go off to seek out Tenshinhan “if he doesn’t have to decency to come see me himself!” That had been nearly a decade ago and Kuririn hadn’t heard from either version of Lunch since. Things had been so hectic that the thought of searching for her would often be replaced by the urgency to train or hunt for Dragon Balls or prepare for some other tragedy. Kuririn spared a moment to sigh and hope that she was doing well wherever she had wandered to.

“Muten Roshi-sama,” Kuririn began, speaking the words carefully. The old hermit didn’t lift his head, his attention still focused on slurping noodles without splashing anymore of the broth on himself. “Do you think it would be forward of me… if I were to invite Eighteen-san to come along?”

Muten Roshi paused mid-chew to stare at him, the white hairs around his lips colored orange from the instant flavoring sauce as rehydrated bits of corn and peas tangled in his whiskers. He seemed to be considering the question for a bit longer than necessary before finally grabbing a napkin and wiping his mouth clean. “Well,” Muten Roshi began slowly, thoughtfully as if weighing his response even as he spoke. “That certainly is an interesting idea.”

That was just what Kuririn had expected him to say and hearing the comment didn’t make him feel any better. He stared back at the invitation, opening the flap to read over the sparse message inside. There was a date, time, and address (“Capsule Corp patio” were the exact directions given) and nothing else, yet his eyes roamed over them as if it were a novel. This would be the first time he saw all his friends gathered together again, the first time he would see _Goku_ again since the battle with Cell, and even if he knew that not everyone would be comfortable seeing Eighteen there, the idea of going without her made him feel … wrong.

“Do you remember the first time Goku brought Gohan by?” Kuririn asked. The old sage frowned curiously at the sudden shift in the conversation, but made no attempt to question him. “Lunch-san was still living with us and Gohan-chan was only an infant at the time, just a few months old.”

“Yes, I remember,” Muten Roshi said distantly, stroking his beard with a thoughtful hand as a mischievous glint seemed to flash behind the lenses of his sunglasses. “Gohan-chan began to cry and Goku whipped out her breast without a second thought and just started feeding her in the middle of the living room.”

Kuririn flushed as the old man cackled in delight at the memory. Clearly the two of them had different memories about that day. He cleared his throat and carried on. “That was the first time I had seen Gohan since she was born and the sight of her made me… sad. For a long time, each time I saw Gohan a part of me just felt so sad. She was beautiful and looked just like Goku, but sometimes I would see bits of ChiChi in her and just felt frustrated.

“I don’t want it to be that way with this baby. I don’t want to feel frustrated or sad when I see Goku’s child and when Eighteen-san is around, I don’t feel that way. I just feel happy.”

Muten Roshi hummed and used the napkin to dab at the bit of drool that had gathered at the corner of his mouth. “Well, Kuririn, you and I both know how Goku is,” he began sagely. “She won’t mind if you bring a friend along with you and she certainly won’t hold anything against Eighteen, even if she did try to kill her. The only thing Goku-chan will care about is you being there.”

Kuririn smiled, because that did make him feel, but a bit of uncertainty still lingered inside of him. “But what about the others? I’m not sure they’ll approve.”

“They might not,” Muten Roshi confirmed. “But if the guest of honor doesn’t care, then there’s not much for them to say, now is there?”


	13. Training Sessions

The tiled ground was shaking, rattling and vibrating in a way that was almost rhythmic, but completely familiar. Dende watched his own feet as he took each step as cautiously as if he were crossing a tight rope. The vibrations were growing stronger now, the shaking punctuated by periodic thumping pounds. It almost felt like an earthquake, but Dende already knew that such a thing was impossible given that the sanctuary was floating hundreds of miles above the ground. 

Piccolo had taken Gohan into one of the temple’s inner chambers for the day’s lesson in an effort to retrain her from scratch, as he had put it. They had been sparring since Gohan had touched down this morning, never once taking a break for food or water and Dende was starting to worry that he had been forgotten.

His own instructions with Piccolo were not nearly as intense. Guardian training was more focused on meditation and channeling energy, but Dende wasn’t sure if he was progressing the way he should. Given Piccolo’s stony demeanor, he had a feeling that he was behind the curb. Try as he might, Dende still found peering into the lower realm overwhelming, his senses often feeling suffocated by the sheer number of beings who dwelled on this alien planet that was meant to be his home. It was difficult for him to wrap his mind around the fact that a world so small could hold so many. 

At least there was Gohan to keep him company. Gohan only came by twice a week and the majority of her time in the heavenly realm was spent training with Piccolo, but the hour they spent meditating together in the early evening was a joy he had begun to treasure. The time was meant to be spent in reflective silence, but every now and again Gohan and Dende would share quiet looks and exchange secretive smiles. It was a small gesture, but one that brought Dende back to his simpler days on Namek with his brother Cargo and the other children.

By the time his feet landed on the final step, Dende felt as if his whole body were caught up in the electric energy within the chamber. A wooden door was the only thing that separated him from the others, but already Dende could feel something warm and heavy in the air. The metal handle was hot as he yanked the door open and instantly the salty musk of sweat assaulted his senses. 

Piccolo and Gohan were in the center of the chamber, their bodies flickering in and out of sight as they moved with impossible speed. They had done quite a job of wreaking havoc on the room, the stone pillars and marble floors now littered with deep angry cracks and pock marked with a series of chips. He could feel the impact of each blow, a sharp wind slapping him in the face seconds after a deep boom reached his ears.

They had lost all track of time, just as Dende had suspected and as he stood in the chamber’s doorway, staff in one hand and pouch of senzu beans in the other, he wondered just what would be the best way to redirect their attention. Being more decisive and commanding was one of the goals of his training, but Dende had a feeling that Piccolo would want him to go about it the right way.

Dende felt his face grow warm, the prospect of drawing attention to himself making him feel as if his skin were being peeled away, leaving him bare and vulnerable. Fighting back against the jittery feeling in his stomach, he raised a hand to clear his throat, but his voice was easily swallowed up by the sound of a fist slamming against a hard flight surface. He coughed again, louder and deep in his throat, but once again the sound was absorbed by the fight. Dende groaned, feeling more frustrated than embarrassed now and instead he decided to take his staff and slam it a few times against the ground. He had thought that the sound would be lost in the chaos of Gohan and Piccolo’s scuffle, but it found a way to echo through the chamber before reaching their ears. 

He watched as their bodies materialized, solid and steady, before his eyes. The two looked completely haggard, sweat coating every inch of their bodies, training clothes torn and frayed as deep bruises bloomed beneath the surface of their skin. Dende did his best not to grimace at the sight of them, grateful that they had the senzu beans as healing both by hand would have taken a great deal of energy. He handed a bean to each of them, Gohan accepting the senzu with a tired yet polite “Thank you” as Piccolo frowned thoughtfully before eating his. 

“It seems that time slipped away from us,” Piccolo mused, the bruises on his face melting away as the bean’s magic took effect. He gave a low groan, stretching his back and rubbing at a spot on his neck that likely no longer felt stiff or sore. “Perhaps we should skip today’s meditation.” 

Dende felt his chest tighten as silent panic seized him. The last thing he wanted was for Gohan to leave early. “Well, there are still a few day light hours left,” he interjected meekly.

“I’m sure I have time to meditate for just an hour,” Gohan said brightly.

Piccolo looked between the two, his usually hard eyes growing a touch soft as the shadow of a smile fell upon his lips. “Well, since you’re both so intent on completing your exercises, let’s head top side and relieve ourselves of this clutter.”

Dende followed Piccolo’s gaze back towards the now ruined chamber. It was a wonder that the two had managed to cause so much destruction when Gohan hadn’t even crossed into her Super state. 

They walked behind Piccolo, exiting the room that would likely need Mr. Popo’s care in the near future.

“How were today’s exercises?” Dende whispered to Gohan.

Gohan’s face grew a touch flushed as she allowed her stride to grow slower. “It was fine,” she whispered as lowly as she could manage, but they both knew there was no real way to keep anything from Piccolo when he was near. All Namekians by nature had very acute hearing and Dende already knew that Piccolo could hear their every whisper. “But Piccolo-san says it’ll be some time before I’ll be able to master my power if I don’t focus more.”

“But your power seemed incredible back there,” Dende gasped. “And you weren’t even a Super Saiya-jin!” 

“I know, but Piccolo-san says I could be doing better.” She gave a forlorn sigh, shaking her head in a way that made it clear that she’d had this conversation with Piccolo many times before. “He says I rely too much on my emotions.”

Dende gave a soft hum at Gohan’s words. He didn’t know much about Saiya-jins, Gohan’s mother and Vegeta being the only full blooded members of the race that he knew, but as different as the two were they both seemed to draw strength from their emotions. Yet Piccolo knew Gohan far better than Dende and was a seasoned warrior at that. If he suspected that Gohan leaned too heavily on her emotions then it must be true. 

They took the stone steps back up to the entry for the temple, the sun outside looking golden and full as it began its gradual descend. Dende was used to heat, having grown up on a world with three suns made Earth’s changing climate something of a novelty, but it was easier to meditate when the sun wasn’t hanging overhead, so he was glad to see that it had begun to set.

The air around Piccolo bent, shifting as his usual turban and cape materialized out of thin air, his tattered training clothes mending themselves in a flash of light. The two children watched as he fell into position, folding his arms over his chest and tucking his legs beneath his body. They observed as he began to levitate before following suit, their movements not nearly as fluid as their instructor’s, yet Dende felt confident in saying that their form was definitely improving. 

“There is still a great deal of uncertainty surrounding both of you,” Piccolo told them. “The fear of not living up to the expectation of others burdens you. Once you can expel these fears then you will be able to achieve your goals.”

Dende closed his eyes and took in Piccolo’s words, silently willing himself to take his message and absorb it, but he could already feel his confidence falter. It was difficult for him to feel strong or confident on this foreign world, surrounded by strangers. The only familiar face to be found was Piccolo, but most days he felt more like a mirage in the desert. 

The sound of air churning reached his ears, accompanied by the low growing roar of what Dende vaguely recognized as a jet’s engine. He opened his eyes and saw that Gohan and Piccolo were already alert and on their feet, yet neither appeared to be tense which put Dende at ease. He watched as a yellow plane appeared over the edge of the sanctuary before gliding down to land near the ledge. The door to the plane swung open and Bulma stepped out, carrying her child against her chest. Gohan’s eyes lit up at the sight of the baby and instantly went over to Bulma’s side. Dende followed along behind her, knowing that as the sanctuary’s guardian it was only right for him to greet all guests. 

“Good afternoon, Bulma-san,” he offered and Bulma rewarded his greeting with a bemused grin.

“I didn’t expect to see so many of you here,” Bulma chuckled as her eyes landed on Gohan. “Shouldn’t you be on your way home, Gohan-kun?”

“We were just in the middle of our meditation,” Gohan explained. “Do you think I could hold Trunks?”

Bulma smiled and willing handed the baby over. Trunks wasn’t nearly as cooperative, his arms flapping and legs kicking, making it difficult for Gohan to get a firm grip on him. “He’s in a mood to explore, so he’s on the fussy side today,” she warned her. “Keep a firm hold on him. It’d be a long way for him to fall.”

Gohan laughed even as Trunks kicked and squirmed in her arms, making happy little noises even as he continued to fidget. Not that Gohan seemed to mind, determined to find a way to get a good grasp on the baby.

“Sorry about interrupting the lesson,” Bulma offered to Piccolo as she reached for something in her purse. She pulled out an envelope and handed it over to Piccolo who in turn frowned, but accepted the paper. “I just wanted to deliver this to the two of you since putting it in the mail wouldn’t do much good.”

Dende felt his attention drawn towards the conversation as he watched Piccolo turn the envelope over in his hand. He opened the flap and pulled out a colorful card that had been tucked inside. “What is this?” he asked.

For a moment Bulma looked a bit offended by the question as if the card and her appearance should make everything perfectly clear, but she seemed to push those feelings aside. “It’s an invitation, of course,” she explained as a touch of exasperation colored her words. “I’m throwing a baby shower for Son-kun and I wanted to make sure you got your invitations.” 

Dende suddenly felt lost, a feeling that Piccolo no doubt shared as he continued to frown at the paper in his hand.

“Does mother know that you’re having a party for her and the baby?” Gohan asked and Dende was grateful that Gohan was there to clarify, even if it was indirectly.

“No, I thought that it would be nice to make it a surprise,” she said, visibly brightening at the question and the way Gohan was smiling at her. Clearly that was the reaction she had been hoping for.

“I’m not sure if it would be appropriate for me to attend,” Piccolo commented as he attempted to hand the envelope and its contents back to Bulma. 

Bulma frowned, placing her hands on her hips defensively as if Piccolo had just insulted her. “And why not?” she asked as a slight edge appeared in her words. “You’re one of Son-kun’s friends. I’m sure that she’ll want you there.”

“It’s not Son that I’m concerned about,” he clarified and Bulma’s features seemed to soften as Gohan bowed her head in what seemed to be disappointment.

Dende had heard from Mr. Popo that Piccolo had an unfortunate history with the occupants of this planet, he and Gohan’s mother having once been mortal enemies. Yet Gohan and her mother didn’t seem to hold an animosity against him and Dende couldn’t imagine that anyone in their circle of friends would be at odds with Piccolo given how often they all worked together.

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” she said confidently with a wave of her hand. “I already told him you were coming and he’s fine with it.”

Piccolo didn’t seem convinced, yet he didn’t put any effort into rejecting the offer either.

Gohan smiled as she adjusted Trunks in her arms. He had finally stopped squirming and was no focused on pulling at Gohan’s hair. “Can Dende come, too?” Gohan asked, ducking away from Trunks’s grasping fingers.

“Of course he can,” Bulma said. “That was why I came here in the first place.” 

Gohan laughed, delighted by the news and Dende dared to look sheepishly in Piccolo’s direction. Piccolo gave him a small nod of approval. Dende looked to Gohan and smiled as Gohan smiled back at him.


	14. A Losing Game

Tenshinhan frowned as his eyes scanned the world beneath him. Metro East wasn’t quite the sprawling mess of cluttered streets and towering buildings that its western counterpart could be, but Tenshinhan was unfamiliar with the city enough to feel overwhelmed by the sight of it. He sighed and glanced down at the notes he had jotted down with the directions to the stadium. 

Yamucha’s team was currently in the middle of a series of games against Metro East’s baseball team in an attempt to earn a spot in the finals. Tenshinhan didn’t really follow baseball, he had a passing knowledge of the sport, but every now and again he would pass through a town with a television or radio tuned into one of the games and knew from second hand word of mouth that Yamucha had become an endeared figure amongst the fans. They were in awe of his skill with a bat, guaranteed to hit a home run every time he took a swing, always able to round the bases in record time, and making impossible catches with remarkable ease. It was comforting to know that Yamucha had found a place where he could be appreciated, but Tenshinhan knew straight from the source that the work didn’t bring him any pleasure.

“It’s a stupid, boring sport,” Yamucha had groused bitterly to him a little more than a year ago during a particularly arduous training session. “But it pays the bills.”

The memory of that time was bitter sweet, because Yamucha had only gone to train with Tenshinhan and Chaozu after it had become painfully clear that something was growing between Bulma and Vegeta and that Yamucha was becoming an unwelcomed guest in the place he had once called home. Yet Tenshinhan had enjoyed having the three of them training together again, feeling the same closeness that had developed in the Otherworld being rekindled in the living realm. He supposed that it was that growing closeness coupled with the impending doom that had over taken them all months ago that had led to his carelessness.

His eyes finally landed on the massive structure in the outskirts of the city where Metro East held most of their sporting events and a surge of determination soon found itself churning through his veins. It was still fairly early in the day, the game several hours away from its scheduled start time, and the lot surrounding the stadium was relatively empty. Yet Tenshinhan knew that Yamucha was already there, because the team was supposed to be doing warm up drills and even if Yamucha, being the star player that he was, would likely be excused from such a thing Tenshinhan felt certain he would be required to attend today’s events. 

Tenshinhan willed himself to the ground below. His feet touched down near the rear of the stadium, knowing that sneaking inside would likely be the best option. Not that he cut a very inconspicuous figure wearing his usual green and white training grab, but finding his own way inside would be a better option than walking up to a guard and asking for directions. 

The stadium was nothing short of a maze with its too wide passage ways filled with vendors setting up to sell food and souvenirs to the impending guests and workers milling about cleaning and restocking. Everyone was so focused on their assigned tasks that no one even batted an eye at Tenshinhan as he stretched out his senses in search of Yamucha’s ki, knowing instantly that it would be the strongest presence within the vicinity. 

Eventually Tenshinhan found his way out into the bleachers, the light of the gradually setting sun washing the rows of empty plastic seats in a warm glow. The field was massive, the baseball diamond seeming to be just a tiny figure scratched into the corner of the green grassy circle and for just a moment Tenshinhan found his mind drifting back to the last Budokai he had attended. The tournament stage had been nothing compared to this, the crowd they drew too small to fill even one section of the stadium, and a part of him wondered if Yamucha ever felt overwhelmed by it all.

He pushed the thoughts aside as he walked down the concrete steps towards the railing barricading the last row of seats from the ledge of the upper deck. There were a few players on the field, members of the Metro East home team sporting their blue and white uniform, passing practice pitches back and forth to each other or taking warm up swings at invisible balls. The Taitans were nowhere to be seen and Tenshinhan wondered if they were still in their locker room.

A figure in yellow caught his eye and Tenshinhan turned his head towards the opposing team’s dugout. He couldn’t recognize the man, but from his short, round stature and bespectacled face Tenshinhan guessed that he was the Taitans’ coach or manager. He reasoned that the man would know where to find Yamucha as he leapt over the guard rail and landed easily on the lower level. A few of the Metro East players had caught sight of the maneuver, a few of them so stunned by Tenshinhan’s ability to fall several feet without effort that they suddenly lost interest in their drills, but he ignored the stares as he continued to make his way towards the guest dugout.

“Sir,” Tenshinhan called out once he had reached the final step before the railing that separated guests from the field. “Excuse me, sir?”

The man heard him, Tenshinhan was certain of that, but he continued to ignore his voice, no doubt assuming that he was just a fan. With a sigh he swung his legs over the railing and landed on the field before walking briskly in the man’s direction. He instantly heard the shrill sound of a whistle being blown and a few of the players on the other end of the field speaking in raised voices, but again he ignored them. 

“Excuse me,” he said again and this time the smaller man did look up at him, but his face was etched with a sort of alarm that would likely cause more trouble than Tenshinhan wanted. “I’m looking for Yamucha,” he said quickly before the man could speak. “I’m a friend of his.”

The small man looked him up and down, a doubtful gleam flashing in his eyes as he no doubt stalled in order to wait for the security guards who were already approaching to reach them. “Oh really?” he scoffed doubtfully. “Is that so?”

“Okay buddy,” a man in a blue windbreaker with a walkie-talkie clipped to his shoulder said gruffly as he approached Tenshinhan from the side. There were two other men dressed in matching uniforms walking briskly from the opposite side of the field and Tenshinhan distantly wondered if they were armed. Not that it mattered either way. “Time to go.”

“I’m just here to speak with my friend,” he sighed in exasperation as one of the men grabbed at his arm. Tenshinhan could tell that the security guard was trying to drag him away, but his hands were like a breeze against stone. “Please, it’ll only take a moment.”

Panic seemed to grow in the small man’s face as the realization that Tenshinhan was perhaps too strong to be hauled off dawned on him. “If you know him,” the man began weakly, “why isn’t he expecting you?”

Tenshinhan didn’t have an answer for that and didn’t have time to think of one as another yellow figure appeared from within the dugout. His eyes locked with Yamucha’s, a look of quiet shock settling on his friend’s features before a blush began to color his cheeks. For a moment Tenshinhan felt himself lose his nerve, realizing that his sudden appearance may not look good for Yamucha down the road, but he pushed those thoughts aside. If Yamucha had just talked to him earlier it wouldn’t have come to this.

“It’s okay,” Yamucha said quickly, walking hurriedly from within the dugout and over to the round man’s side. “I know him.”

The guard’s hand loosened its grasp, but stayed by Tenshinhan’s side. “Is this guy a friend of yours?” the guard asked as the other two seemed to tense, ready to take action if necessary.

Yamucha’s face was unreadable as he stayed silent for an uncomfortably long time. “I, uh, I know who he is,” Yamucha answered hesitantly, before turning toward the shorter man standing at his side. He offered him a shrug before adding “He’s someone from my fighting days, Coach.” 

The answer seemed to appease the guards who at last turned and marched off, speaking quickly into their walkie-talkies before casting one last glance in Tenshinhan’s direction. Across the field a few of the other players began to lose interest in the scene when it became clear that a fight wouldn’t break out and went back to their warm ups.

Yet now that the “danger” was gone the short man seemed to allow himself to grow irritated as he pinned Yamucha with an impatient frown. “I wish you’d let me know that you were bringing a guest,” the coach grumbled to him, before turning back to Tenshinhan. “Look, I don’t know what he promised you, but this is a sold out game, so…”

“I need to talk to you,” Tenshinhan said, stepping towards Yamucha to make his words and their intention all the clearer.

“Now’s not a great time,” Yamucha returned and Tenshinhan was surprised by the edge in his voice.

“When is a good time?” Tenshinhan found himself snapping, but forced himself to take a step back and reconsider. He didn’t come all the way to Metro East to fight with Yamucha, because that would only make things worse. He sighed, took a breath, and then tried again. “Yamucha, please.”

Yamucha hesitated, worrying his lip as his coach looked between the two, gears seeming to turn in his head and no doubt spinning in the wrong direction. “Look, buddy, if you really do need tickets,” he began, but was instantly cut off when Yamucha waved Tenshinhan over.

“Follow me,” he sighed, as he walked up the dugout steps leading towards the field and over towards the padded walls.

“Yamucha!” the coach cried out, an edge of desperation in his voice. “You’re… you’re not planning on taking off again, are you? Because we can renegotiate your salary whenever you want.”

Yamucha didn’t bother to respond as he kept walking. He took Tenshinhan over to an alcove that seemed to be a passage way for large vehicles to access the field in emergencies. The area was shaded and tucked far enough out of sight that Tenshinhan felt certain no one would be able to see or hear them. 

“I’m sorry,” Tenshinhan found himself saying instantly. “I didn’t want to do this, but you left me no choice.”

“You can’t just drop by like this,” Yamucha whispered, his words coming out as little more than a hiss as he crossed his arms over his chest before slumping against the side of the wall. “I work here you know. These people… they’re jittery. Weird stuff freaks them out and if they found out what I really do…”

“I’m not here to talk about your career,” he cut in. “I’m here to talk about what happened between us.”

Yamucha bowed his head, a gesture that caused the brim of his hat to obscure his face, but Tenshinhan already knew that he was blushing. “Ten,” he began quietly, but Tenshinhan carried on.

“I waited so long to say those words to you,” he confessed. “Ever since we were young I always felt… _something_ , but it was only when we were men that I began to understand what that something was.” The urge to reach out and grasp Yamucha’s hand was crawling at his arm, but Tenshinhan fought it off, mindful of their surroundings. This alcove was private, but there were still people milling about and the last thing either wanted was to be seen having this intimate discussion. “I’m not sorry for what I said, but I do regret the way I said it. All that talk of the world ending made me grow impatient. I wish I could explain my feelings better, but… I never really understood how.” 

“Ten, I’m so sorry,” Yamucha whispered, the acrid annoyance gone from his voice, leaving only a tired sigh in its place. He still didn’t meet his gaze, but Tenshinhan reasoned that this wasn’t the sort of conversation Yamucha had expected to be having tonight and was likely unprepared. “I… I haven’t handled any of this well. I was just so caught off guard by it all.”

“I understand,” Tenshinhan offered even as he waited expectantly for Yamucha to carry on. It was clear from his guarded posture and the fact that he was still avoiding Tenshinhan’s gaze that there was more to be said and everything inside him told Tenshinhan that this would not be a pleasant conversation.

“I’m really glad you were honest with me,” Yamucha went on at length, rubbing at the bare patch of skin just below the hem of his sleeve in a self-conscious manner. “I’m happy that you feel that you can share something like that with me and I’m glad that you’ve come to a place where you feel comfortable expressing that sort of emotion. I know that your upbringing was… rough and all…”

The growing weight of rejection settled on him, because even if Yamucha had not said the words, Tenshinhan could see as clear as day the path that they were heading. He frowned and rubbed his hands together, suddenly feeling so out of place in Yamucha’s presence, in his world. It made sense now for Yamucha to turn away from him, because they were so vastly different now. Once there had been a time where the two had shared the same path, but things had changed, time had shifted their ambitions and set them down different avenues. Yamucha wasn’t the teenager that Tenshinhan had developed an awkward attachment to; he was a man with conflicting desires. 

“It’s alright, Yamucha,” he said gently as he waved a hand in his friend’s direction. The gesture was enough to draw the other man’s gaze and Tenshinhan was surprised to see so much uncertainty and confusion shining in Yamucha’s dark eyes. “You don’t have to explain or apologize to me, that isn’t what I came here for. I only wanted to make sure that our friendship remained intact.”

Yamucha’s uncertain gaze settled into a frown, one that was thoughtful as he seemingly debated something deep within himself. At last Yamucha seemed to come to a conclusion as he sighed and took a half step forward, placing a heavy hand on Tenshinhan’s forearm. 

“Ten,” he began somberly, their eyes locking at long last and Tenshinhan saw just how tired his friend looked. “Love isn’t what you think it is. It’s a nice word to say, but it’s also a feeling that consumes you. You spend years believing that you love someone, but in truth it’s just an idea that you chase and hold on to, because losing it means you’ll be alone.” Yamucha paused a moment to give his head a sad shake before carrying on. “Some people get lucky, they find real lasting love like Goku did, but the rest of us? We struggle, we fall, we wander in a desert for a thousand years looking for a mirage that will never be real. I don’t want that for you Ten. I don’t want that for anyone.”

There was only a hand full of inches between the two of them, but in that moment Tenshinhan felt as if a trench had opened up and Yamucha now stood miles away. He gazed down at Yamucha as if meeting him for the first time, but realized that this new Yamucha had been lurking and growing for years. He wasn’t just tired, but sad and lonely and it wasn’t that he didn’t love Tenshinhan, but he didn’t trust himself to love anyone again.

In an instant Tenshinhan found himself filled with so many thoughts and desires: he wanted to hang his head and cry, wanted to gather his friend to his arms and hold him, wanted to throw back his head and laugh, yet he didn’t do any of that. Instead he reached out and placed a hand on Yamucha’s shoulder and offered it a supportive squeeze. “I don’t think that will be true for either of us,” Tenshinhan offered, hoping the words came off as sincere as he had intended them to be. Yamucha looked back at him, unconvinced yet relieved. “I hope…” he stopped himself, reconsidering his words. “I hope you have a good game.”

Yamucha offered him a tight lipped smile as he turned his head back towards the field. “Well, I don’t really need luck,” he said smugly. The sounds of other voices was growing louder, a clear sign that more men had gathered on the field and Tenshinhan already knew that Yamucha would have to leave soon. “Coach was right when he said it was a sold out game, but if you want…”

Tenshinhan took a step back, shaking his head as he allowed his hand to slip away from Yamucha’s side. “I don’t need anything. I’m not really into baseball anyway.”

“Yeah, it’s boring,” Yamucha shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he gave a bitter glance towards the field before smiling at Tenshinhan. “But it’s fun to drink to. There’s a bar not far from here if you want to grab a drink after.”

This time Tenshinhan did allow himself a quick bark of a laugh, because it would be a very long time before he drank again. “I’ll have to pass on the offer,” he said at last. “Another time, perhaps?”

Yamucha nodded. “Another time.”


	15. Understanding

The Earth was a dull boring speck of nothing. 

There were vast stretches of nothingness: oceans that went on for miles, dense forests populated mostly by animals, and great desert planes where large scaled animals roamed. And then there were the cities, dozens of cities -- on islands, surrounded by mountains, or right by the beach -- all filled with humans scurrying about on the street or crammed into their cars and planes. Vegeta had flown around the globe several times in the past few days and each trip offered nothing of interest for him. 

He sneered down below as he caught sight of the dolphins breaching the steady ocean waves beneath him, the sun’s rays catching on the water as it splashed around them like flecks of gold. There was nothing to break up the monotony of living on this peaceful world. Somehow Kakarotto had dwelled on this miserable rock for years and found a way to achieve her current level on strength, but for a Saiya-jin elite such as Vegeta the Earth held no challenge or potential, just endless boredom. 

With a reluctant groan he turned his gaze west towards the compound where Bulma and her family dwelled. She had been more distracted than usual these past few months, having thrown herself fully into herself appointed role of party planner. It was a task she had taken up between all her other projects and much to Vegeta’s dismay, not one of those included repairing the spaceship.

He had attempted to get the old man to rebuild the ship for him, even threatening his life if the fool did not conform to Vegeta’s wish. Yet apparently the old man had become so accustomed to Vegeta’s presence that he had regarded the attempt on his life as just a strange quirk of Vegeta’s and laughed him off.

“I’m sorry, Vegeta-kun, but the spaceship is Bulma’s project,” the old man had told him between puffs of his cigarette. “Once she calls ‘dibs’ on a task, she gets quite crossed when someone else takes it over.”

_I should have destroyed this pathetic world when I had the chance,_ he lamented ruefully as his booted feet touched down on the smooth tile of the patio. 

Of course, if he had destroyed the Earth, there would be no…

Today was another waste of his training clothes and he spared no time in returning to his room in order to strip them from his body before grabbing the Earth grab that Bulma had purchased for him. These shapeless, comfortable garments were becoming more familiar to him than his own native attire and Vegeta resented them almost as much as he did the sunshine or the pleasant breeze that always seemed to follow him.

It was winter now, or so Bulma had told him as much, yet the air never seemed to change in the city. The temperatures had dropped a few degrees, but there seemed to be no sign of snow or even heavy clouds on the horizon any time soon. 

Vegeta left his quarters and wandered over to Trunks’s nursery only to find that he wasn’t there. The room was empty, a fact that seemed to be emphasized by the way the door hung open. He huffed and moved on, reasoning that the babe was likely with either Bulma or one of her parents. He took a few steps further into the hall only to stop when his ears caught the sound of a voice that was familiar, yet wasn’t.

“Oh my! Trunks is getting so big!” the voice gushed.

He walked over to Bulma’s room, the door slightly ajar and allowing him to catch snippets of her conversation with an unseen woman. Pressing the tips of his fingers to the door Vegeta stood back as it slowly swung open, the hinges well-oiled enough not to creak or groan as bit by bit it revealed the sight of Bulma sitting at her desk with her back turned towards him. Just as he had expected Trunks was with her, resting in her lap as she split her attention between chatting on the phone and jotting a few things down on a pad of paper.

“Bulma-chan, these pictures are adorable! When are you going to send me more?”

Bulma chuckled, clicking at the tip of her pen eagerly in order to make the easily amused Trunks giggle before making a show of writing something. “Well, you’ll just have to wait. He’s a growing boy, but not that fast!”

From the phone’s speaker the other woman let out an exaggerated sigh. “I know. Although, I kinda wish you had kept the tail. That woulda been cute.”

Bulma scoffed and even if Vegeta couldn’t see her face he could tell that she was frowning distastefully. “More like dangerous. I’ve had enough bad experience with tails to know better.” Trunks shifted on her lap, reaching a chubby hand towards her pen, but Bulma tickled his stomach in order to divert his attention. “I wish you could come to the party. It would be fun to have you there.”

Another sigh came, but this one was far more sincere. “I do too, but Omori would be upset. He’s testing some new invention and wants me there. I really did want to see more aliens.”

“There will be plenty of them,” Bulma said, her voice practically singing the words as she bounced Trunks on her knee. “Four full bloods and two half breeds.”

“Including my nephew!” the woman giggled. “It’s still a bit strange, having an alien in the family.”

“You get used to it,” Bulma told her dismissively. “But next time you’ll come, right?”

“I’ll certainly try. I have to meet my future brother-in-law, right?”

At that comment Bulma seemed to grow tense, her posture turning pointedly ridged even as Trunks continued to coo and flail about in her arms. She seemed to consider something and took a moment to turn around and Vegeta allowed himself to be seen when she looked his way. He watched as her eyes widened in a mixture of alarm and embarrassment before quickly turning away from him.

“I, uh, I have to go,” Bulma blurted out quickly before pressing a button on her phone and cutting the line without waiting for any sort of response from the other person. 

“Who was that?” Vegeta asked only to have his answer rebuffed by an indignant groan.

“What are you doing lurking in doorways like that?” Bulma snapped, standing quickly and causing the chair behind her to scrape against the floor. She clutched Trunks to her chest as she stood and marched over to the other side of the room, gathering more papers and shuffling through them as if they were of some importance. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”

Vegeta frowned, undeterred by Bulma’s antics. “You have a sister?”

“No!” Bulma said instantly, her words rushed and defensive. She stopped for a moment, clutching her papers with nearly enough force to crumple them before sparing a moment to glance at Vegeta. She pinned him with a challenging look as if she were searching for an excuse to start a quarrel and he was almost tempted to give her one. “Why? Would you care if I did?”

“No,” he said flatly.

Bulma’s frown deepened, the fight seeming to go out of her as she turned away and laid her papers back down. “I thought so,” she muttered. 

Vegeta watched as Trunks turned towards him, his eyes landing on Vegeta as a smile split his lips and he reached for him. He considered the gesture for a moment before reaching for the boy and grabbing him out of Bulma’s arms. She glanced in Vegeta’s direction for a moment, but didn’t put up a fuss and allowed Trunks to go to him.

Trunks was getting bigger now, more of a “toddler” than a “baby,” yet he was still too small to undergo proper training. Vegeta held him in the air, allowing the boy’s limbs to dangle beneath his body. Trunks’s legs instinctively curled up, before growing slack and hanging beneath him. In that moment Vegeta decided that Trunks was too big to be cradled any longer, even if Bulma would likely continue to do so for some time. He slowly set him down on the ground to see what would happen and was not surprised to see that Trunks was now able to stand on his own without support. 

Bulma glanced down at Trunks who swayed for a moment before reaching towards Vegeta’s pants and grasping the material in a tight fist. He made a gurgling noise then fell to his rump with a slight bounce. The sight was amusing enough to brighten Bulma’s mood and she smiled before bending down to gather Trunks up and help him stand once again. “That’s alright, Trunks-kun,” she cooed. “You’ll be walking soon enough.”

Vegeta huffed and took a step towards the door. “He should be walking now.”

“I mailed out all the invitations,” Bulma said, her words gaining his attention and stopping Vegeta in his tracks. “I arranged the catering, booked a DJ, and I’ve even got most of the decorations. The party will be next month.”

It was obvious that Bulma wanted him to be impressed, to congratulate her for completing this self-appointed task, but Vegeta only offered a half-hearted shrug in response. Her family was rich enough and Bulma was powerful enough to have a dozen parties planned and assembled in as much time. He couldn’t see why this one event mattered to her.

“That’s fine. I won’t be there.”

Again Bulma’s eyes widened, but this time they just as quickly grew narrow as her cheeks began to turn red. Her hands feel away from Trunks’s side and when he fell over again she didn’t bother to help him up, instead raising herself to her feet in order to glare over at Vegeta. “Why not?” she practically demanded as she set her hands on either side of her hips. “You _literally_ have _nothing_ better to do.”

“That’s true enough,” he conceded, “but I’d rather spend my days doing nothing than gather for a party celebrating that dullard Kakarotto.”

“That,” she practically hissed as Trunks crawled around on his hands and knees, exploring the cluttered room as best as he could, “is _not_ the point! Why won’t you just go for _me_? I worked so hard and you won’t even do this as simple favor for _me_? The mother of your child!”

“So you admit this party is for yourself, not her?”

Bulma flinched as if struck, but the shock didn’t last long before turning back into anger. “That’s bullsh-” She stopped herself, mindful of their company. “That’s bull. And you’re a d… _jerk_ for saying something like that!”

“And you’re a fraud,” he retorted smugly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You and your entire family are a bunch of frauds. You pretend to do nice things for people, people you know or don’t know, but it’s a front. You don’t care, none of you do. And why should you? Why should the powerful care for the weak? It’s pathetic to lower yourself for the comfort of others when they should be groveling at your feet!”

“You warped maniac! Doing nice things for people isn’t a way of ‘lowering myself’ and it’s not a way to inflate my own ego, either.”

“Then why do it?” he challenged. “What’s the point in any of it?”

“Because doing nice things feels _good_ , you sociopath!”

“Then you admit there is gain in it!” he countered. “It’s all to give _yourself_ joy, not others!”

For a moment Bulma only stared, her mouth hanging ajar as if the muscles in her jaw had lost their strength before she pressed her hands over her eyes and let out a frustrated groan. “Oh my _God_! And you call _Son-kun_ an idiot?”

“Don’t you _dare_ compare my intelligence to that empty headed moron’s!”

“I get that you’re a blood thirsty alien killing machine, but how _dense_ are you that you can’t understand something as simple as niceness and basic human decency?”

Vegeta could almost feel the blood churning in his ears as he stared at Bulma, hard and level, his glower matched by her own as they stood only a foot apart from each other. On the ground Trunks continued to crawl and explore, pulling at the odd blouse or shoe that had been tossed on the floor and forgotten. The first time Vegeta had ventured into Bulma’s room it had been in an even more chaotic state with half-finished projects and chunks of machinery littering the floor along with clothes and empty snack bags. Now that she was a mother Bulma had gotten _somewhat_ neater, but there was still a ways to go.

“I understand enough,” Vegeta returned at last. “I understand power and control. I understand that you believe you have power over me because you had my son, because you dismantled the only spaceship on this planet. I understand that you think having those things on your side gives you control over me, that so long as Trunks lives and the ship is dismantled you’ll have me as a chained beast at your beck and call. You believe yourself to be kind and noble, but you’re just a manipulative child who deludes herself into thinking she’s generous. You call me a blood thirsty alien, but _I know_ who I am.”

The color drained from most of Bulma’s face, gathering in her cheeks as her eyes continued to flash and her hands and jaw clenched in silent anger. Vegeta half expected her to explode, to unleash a typhoon of insults and curses at him, but to his amazement she remained steady in her quiet rage. “Maybe I will repair your ship after all,” Bulma said evenly. “I’ll put it back together so you can return to space and your life of bloodlust and murder, because I don’t need you. _Trunks_ doesn’t need you! He grew up to be a fine young man without you once. Hell, maybe he turned out so well _because_ he didn’t have a barbaric maniac of a father around to poison him!”

Without another word Bulma stormed off, leaving Vegeta alone in her room with Trunks. A part of him was tempted to believe that Bulma meant what she had said, that she really would fix the space craft, but he knew better than that.

Glancing down he saw that Trunks had crawled back to his side, his shining blue eyes gazing up at him as if he had never seen Vegeta before. Vegeta frowned and gathered the boy up and brought the toddler back to his own room. Once inside the nursery Vegeta saw that there were a few toys in the cradle so he deposited the boy there, hoping that Trunks would have enough to occupy himself.

If Vegeta were truly honest he would have to admit that he couldn’t really remember what his old suite back in the palace on Planet Vegeta had been like. He had moved around too much conquering worlds and slaughtering weaker beings to have really spent much time in a bedroom filled with toys and books and all the comforts of home, but that was how Trunks would be raised. Trunks would have his mother and grandparents around to fuss over him, he would have a school and friends that were like him but not like him, and maybe he’ll learn to fight but he’ll never love to kill. This Trunks would be more human than Saiya-jin, just as the other Trunks had been, but at least he would be strong and if Vegeta left this planet today he supposed it would give him some comfort knowing that a child of his blood would turn out well.

“She doesn’t understand,” Vegeta said to the room and certainly not to the toddler playing with colorful blocks in his padded jail. “No one on this planet understands. Living is not something you do; it’s a right to be earned. The strong live while the weak fall and die. If you survive it’s because you’ve earned the right to do so and the pleasures you have are earned by pure strength, not given out like trinkets.”

A clattering clank was his only answer, the sound of Trunks throwing his blocks against the bars of his cradle. Vegeta looked at him and knew that Bulma was right, that Trunks would grow up strong and fine if he left him today, but then he would have no one around to show him the right way to live and survive.

From between his bars Trunks locked eyes with him again, his blue eyes offering that same shining look and Vegeta actually found himself walking closer to the cradle to rest his elbows on the bars. Trunks climbed to his feet with ease, standing on his soft mattress and clinging to the rail with one hand as the other reached towards Vegeta and grasped the fabric of his shirt. 

“You don’t understand,” Vegeta half whispered as he reached his own calloused hand out and ran it across the back of the boy’s head. His skin was soft and the strands of purple hair that were growing longer each day felt like treads of silk to his touch. “You don’t understand me either. But some day you could.”


	16. Under the Blue Sky

The lawn chair had seen better days. When she had sat on it with her clean denim capris, Eighteen had worried that the rust stains would damage the material, but after shifting to the side in order to check beneath herself she was relieved to find they still looked relatively pristine. It still took her a while to relax fully, to allow her body to properly sag into the worn plastic lining, because most of the backing had snapped from age and the rest of it didn’t look very stable, but after minutes of silence, Eighteen got the hint that they wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while and forced herself to ease the tension in her shoulders at least a bit.

The air was colder out in the plains, but only just a bit, and when a breeze passed over them it was enough to make her shift and rub at her arms, but not nearly strong enough to make a jacket necessary. There weren’t many clouds in the sky; in fact the few lingering overhead looked thin and wispy, while the sun shined down on them with a warmth that was actually pleasant instead of overbearing. It was an overall beautiful day, the sort where the birds that had flown south for the season sang in the branches where they had perched themselves and squirrels wandered from their burrows without fear. She decided that this agreeable atmosphere was a way of nature giving a blessing of sorts towards her reunion with Number Seventeen.

Seventeen hadn’t been difficult to locate at all as he actually hadn’t wandered far from the battle field where the Cell Games had once taken place. It was there that he had been revived all those months ago and if Eighteen were being truly honest with herself the reason she had chosen not to search that spot initially had been more from reluctance than doubt.

The old farm town where he had set up was abandoned, had been for years after some chemical runoff had contaminated the water, and Seventeen had taken the opportunity to live out in the open in the ghost town. The houses were all small and in need of care, but Seventeen had no intention of repairing them and had likely used their dilapidated state as an excuse to use all the windows for target practice with the rifles he had found. Large metal husks of what must have once been farming equipment littered the overrun patches of earth that used to be fields in odd shapes and Eighteen imagined that was also her brother’s way of warding off boredom, along with what looked like a giant bonfire he had built out of old tables and the refrigerators that had previously been filled with spoiled food.

 _At least he’s mostly behaving himself,_ Eighteen thought as she folded her hands behind her head in order to protect her hair from the rust coated plastic straps of the lawn chair. “This place is a dump,” she said out loud and was rewarded with a soft, proud chuckle. 

“It wasn’t much better when I found it,” Seventeen told her.

“Then why stay here? You’re not exactly a fugitive. No one’s looking for you. You could live wherever you want.”

Beside her Seventeen was reclining in a far more natural position and Eighteen reasoned that he has spent several nights in that same seat gazing up at the stars or watching the clouds pass by on afternoons just like this. “I’m not really ready to be around people,” Seventeen said flatly. “You’re the first person I’ve spoken to in months.”

A sharp tightness took hold of Eighteen’s body at the comment and guilt formed firmly straight in the pit of her stomach. She briefly wondered if Seventeen had been staying here waiting for her to find him, but Eighteen knew her brother better than that. If he had wanted to see her, Seventeen would have found her himself. Something else had kept him here and it wasn’t just a reluctance to socialize. 

“Lapis,” she said, testing the waters and even though Eighteen wasn’t looking his way she could still tell that he bristled at the sound of his former name.

“Don’t call me that,” he all but snapped, his voice taking on an edge that was usually reserved for combat, but the “fight” was short lived and in the blink of an eye that usual aloof air was back. “Don’t… say that name.”

She frowned up at the sky. “You used to call me Lazuli all the time,” she reminded him.

Seventeen said nothing, just shifted his legs a movement that caused his chair to creak and groan in response to the change.

Another breeze swept by causing the trees to rustle and the overgrown blades of grass to ripple like waves along the water. For a moment Eighteen actually missed the ocean. She had spent so much time on a tiny island staring at the sea recently that being on a landlocked continent was a bit off putting. Eighteen sighed and brushed the strands of hair that had blown out of place back behind her ears and smoothed her palms down the sides of her capris. Kame House was just a short flight away. She’d be back on the beach soon enough. 

“I’ve been seeing someone.” Eighteen said the words a bit quicker than necessary, speaking them out into existence before the sliver of doubt in her mind could possibly rob her of her courage, but she still found herself grimacing when Seventeen chuckled in response.

“That’s unexpected,” Seventeen said teasingly. “Is it one of Son Goku’s friends?”

“It is,” she told him, seeing no sense in hiding the truth from her twin. 

Seventeen hummed and shifted his legs again as he pillowed his own hands behind his head. Eighteen couldn’t see him clearly, but she imagined that their figures looked almost identical now. 

“Is he here?”

“Yes,” Eighteen confirmed. “He didn’t want to intrude so he’s waiting for me by the cliffs to the west.”

“So you came all the way over here just to tell me that?” 

“Sort of,” she shrugged. “Kuririn was invited to a party for Son Goku that her friends are throwing. He wanted to take me along. It’s uncomfortable for him, so I decided to make him feel better by doing something that was uncomfortable for me.”

“Seeing me makes you uncomfortable?” 

She could hear the frown in her brother’s voice, but Eighteen did her best not to make her guilt too obvious. They had always been direct with each other, her and Seventeen, and she felt confident in saying it was something they had done even back when they were full humans. Yet that didn’t mean that Eighteen took pleasure in hurting her brash twin, even if he would likely play down his own feelings if she were to call him out on it.

“Do you remember that boy? The one with the purple hair and the sword that we had no data on?” Seventeen said nothing, but Eighteen knew right away that he recalled who she was referring to so she carried on. “Kuririn told me about him. He was a time traveler. In his future, Son Goku died before Gero activated us. We killed all of her friends and destroyed most of the planet. I think that’s where _he_ came from as well.”

Eighteen could practically feel the discomfort radiating off of Seventeen from that last part. He knew exactly the creature she was referring to, the unspoken name hanging heavily in the air between them. “What does any of that have to do with seeing me?”

A strange jittery feeling coursed through her body, churning in her stomach and spreading through her arms and legs. Eighteen suddenly found her feet bobbing at her ankles as she clutched her hands together tightly. “I… I’ve been thinking a lot about the two of us,” she said carefully, trying to put the thoughts she had been struggling with for months into words. “We have a tendency to bring out the worst in each other. You’re such a brat when I’m around and I’m no better. It was fine before when we were angry at Gero and what he did to us, but he’s dead now and… And I think I’m tired of being angry.”

The silence from Seventeen was painfully harsh, the feel of it pricking her skin like the tip of a needle. She had prepared for an outburst of some kind, but silent anger felt so much worse than a verbal tie-raid. 

At last Seventeen sat upright, his feet planting themselves on the ground and framing the edge of the lawn chair awkwardly as he rested his elbows heavily on his own thighs. “You don’t have to follow me around,” he said at length as he stayed hunched over and glaring at the rows of trees surrounding them. “You don’t have to do anything I say. I’m not your boss and you’re not mine, but don’t tell me you won’t see me. You’re my sister.”

“I’m not saying I don’t ever want to see you again,” Eighteen corrected defensively. “I’m just saying… I’m worried about falling back into old patterns.”

“If you want to be good and boring, that’s fine, do that.”

“Seventeen.”

“Do you remember the name of our mother?” he asked suddenly and Eighteen hated him for bringing that up again. They hadn’t spoken about their past in so long and the fact that Seventeen was dragging it back into the forefront of their minds felt like a cheap, petty move. “Do you remember where we used to live or how old we were when we were taken? I can’t. I can’t even remember how long it’s been since it all happened.”

“You know I don’t know any of that either!” she snapped, sitting upright so quickly that her own hair snapped at her face. “And if I can’t call you ‘Lapis’ then you can’t talk about shit I don’t remember!”

Again more silence and Eighteen wished that Seventeen would just fight with her and be done with it. A part of her was tempted to get up and throw a punch at him or rip out one of the trees and hurl it in his face, anything to make him stop this pathetic behavior. 

“I won’t run wild either,” Seventeen went on at last. “I don’t think I have it in me anymore. Maybe I’m tired of being angry as well.”

Eighteen closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, before pushing it all out through her nose. “That’s good I guess.”

“He had it right all along, ya know? Sixteen, that is. Nature really is … something.” 

Despite herself, Eighteen actually found her lips curling into a smile at the mention of the other android. Sixteen’s voice had been one of the last ones she had heard before Cell had taken her and a part of her had ached when Kuririn revealed that he, like so many, had been killed by the monster. The Dragon Balls hadn’t brought him back, maybe it was because he was a robot instead of a living being or partial human, but as much as that hurt Eighteen knew it was for the best. Sixteen was just too strange and peaceful to live in this world.

“Are you going to be like him and have birds and chipmunks eating out of your hands?” she said, a teasing smile curling her lips and for the first time she bothered to look over at Seventeen.

His face gave nothing away, just as always, but Eighteen could feel his tension and the way it was easing out of him bit by bit. “Not really, but maybe staying in the woods away from people will be good for me.”

Eighteen felt her smile soften the longer her gaze lingered on her brother’s face. “Maybe,” she said. “And maybe I’ll come visit you sometimes. Kuririn… he lives on an island with just the old pervert and a turtle. It gets pretty boring there.”

“Well, if you do come visit, it can’t be too often,” he said teasingly as he flopped back onto the lawn chair’s plastic embrace. “I’ve gotten pretty used to being alone.”

Eighteen scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You brat.”

Seventeen chuckled, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but it died away quickly when a strong gust of wind hit them.

It wasn’t a normal gale, but something sharp and forceful enough to make the trees actually bend like rubber bands. The ground below their feet shook and beneath the sharp hollows of wind Eighteen could hear the birds crying out in distress. The twins got to their feet quickly, bracing themselves against the invisible force that slammed into them and as soon as they were standing the lawn chairs went tumbling away like bits of paper caught in an updraft. 

It started so suddenly and just as quickly it came to an end. Weaker branches had been ripped from the trees and twigs and leaves littered the fields as the smaller animals continued to cry out in shock or pain. The sky had changed as well, the wispy little clouds that had once hung over them were completely gone now as if an invisible hand and come and swept them all away.

Eighteen looked to her twin who was gazing back at her with no doubt an identical look of confusion and alarm. “What the hell was that?” Seventeen asked and from the edge in his voice he seemed to expect Eighteen to actually have an answer.

“Probably nothing,” she shrugged, still feeling a bit breathless from the sudden change. Despite her inability to sense energy, Eighteen had a feeling this was the result of some massive Ki building up far away, but that was just as confusing. They were in a time of peace now that Cell was dead, but the data on Son Goku said that she was the sort to constantly be in training. Yet Kuririn had told her that Son Goku was pregnant, ready to pop, and surely she was too far along to produce anything like this. “But I can’t be sure. Let’s go ask Kuririn. He can sense energy so he may have an answer.”

She took to the air easily and wasn’t at all surprised when Seventeen followed suit. The flight to the cliffs where she had left Kuririn took less than a minute and yet when she found him gazing off to the horizon as if in a trance it still felt a bit strange. They touched down on the ground behind him, their feet barely making a sound on the rocky terrain, yet Kuririn should have been highly trained enough to hear their approach well in advance. Still he stood there, fixated on nothing, his small body seeming to tremble in the aftershocks of the strange wind.

“Kuririn?” she called out to him, approaching him briskly. “What on earth was that?”

“G-Gohan,” he said, his voice a breathless tremble. “It was Gohan, it had to be.”

“Son Goku’s child?” Seventeen asked, his face twisted into a scowl of disbelief.

The sound of his voice had been enough to snap Kuririn out of his trance. The smaller man jerked as if waking up from a dream and turned towards them. His eyes instantly widened as a blush spread quickly across his face at the sight of the twins. “Uh, Number Seventeen-san,” he began, fumbling into what seemed like the beginnings of a messy bow before stopping himself. “It’s good to see you again. That is… I…”

“Kuririn!” Eighteen cut in sharply. “Stop stalling and tell us what happened!”

Again Kuririn jerked, his blush lingering even as he turned away to stare back in the direction he had once been gazing. “It’s just as I said, it was Gohan.” He raised a hand and pointed off towards the horizon. “That energy came from the Heavenly Realm. She must have been training there. Somehow… she did it. She managed to recover her energy from her fight against Cell.” A fond gleam found its way into Kuririn’s dark eyes as a look of warmth and pride settled on his features. “Gohan… you’ve really grown up.”

“Son Goku’s daughter did this?” Seventeen said, mumbling the words thoughtfully to himself.

“And we were able to feel it from so far away?” Eighteen added, raising a brow over at her twin. 

Again their expressions were likely a match, because Seventeen looked just as taken aback as she had felt after Kuririn’s explanation. Eighteen could not sense ki, but during the time she had been part of Cell that power had been hers. Thanks to the faint memories of that time she could recall the force of Son Gohan’s fighting power and what a terrible thing it had been. If Son Gohan had truly regained her energy and could maintain it, then truly she was the strongest person on the planet.

Seventeen turned towards the horizon, his gaze lingering in the same direction as Kuririn’s as he gave a heavy sigh and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Well, that just seals it,” he said in a resolute voice. “I won’t be running wild anymore. Not with people like that out there.”

*

Gohan’s limbs felt as if they were on fire. That was the first sensation to strike her when she found her numb mind drifting back into the waking world. Her body felt as if it had been stretched into a taut, thin line like a piece of overly chewed gum that was ready to snap. A dull tingle of pain ran through her that made Gohan want to sleep forever, but somehow she found herself pushing back against it. 

Distantly she felt the weight of a hand on her cheek, a rough, calloused palm cradling her head with a tenderness that was still foreign to long, harsh fingers. She heard a voice call to her, the sound distant in her still ringing ears, and when she opened her eyes she was met with a mass of unfocused green. She groaned, closed her eyes, and then tried again.

This time when she looked the image was clearer, Piccolo’s face slowly coming into focus in front of her eyes. He was smiling down at her, his thin lips curled in that familiar grin even as the swollen part of his cheek seemed to fight against the gesture. There was sweat covering his flushed face and a small trail of blood peaking from his left nostril, but none of that seemed to concern him. His focus was solely on Gohan and distantly she realized she was being cradled in his arms like the child she was.

“There you are,” he chuckled, lowering her frame back towards the ground. She could feel the uneven tiles beneath her, a clear sign of the damage they had once again subjected the inner part of the temple to and her back seized up for half a moment at the jostle. “You overwhelmed yourself.”

“P-Piccolo-san…” Gohan began weakly as she pressed a hand to her own forehead. “What… what happened?”

His laugh came out as a short, proud puff of breath as he leaned back and regarded her broken body carefully. Every nerve in her body hurt with a sort of ache that would flash between dull and stabbing with every breathe she took. She lifted her arm just to push herself upward, but stilled when a jolt of pain ran its way through her. Distantly Gohan wondered where Dende was, but the thought was buried by the growing realization of what must have happened. 

She looked up and saw that they were not inside the chamber, but out on the courtyard of the Sanctuary with only clear blue sky over them. The air was just as cold and thin as ever and in that moment Gohan felt grateful for it since her body seemed to continue to burn the further she was pushed into consciousness. Around them the temple was in shambles – palm trees bent and nearly bald, tile cracked like spider webs, and the temple itself was dented as if ready to crumble in on itself.

Gohan closed her eyes and willed herself upward, ignoring the pain shooting up and down at the movement. Her heart felt oddly limp in her chest, like a sack of blood and muscle with no movement and that only helped to make breathing and moving even harder as Gohan’s head swam. 

“I did…” She understood what had happened, but for some reason she couldn’t bring her mouth to speak the words.

The sound of clattering rocks caught her ears and with an absurd amount of effort Gohan turned her stiff neck back in the direction of the temple. Dende had wandered out of the Sanctuary and into the damaged courtyard, his feet tripping over bits of tile and chunks of stone that had once belonged to the pillars near the entrance. His eyes lit up for half a moment when they connected with Gohan’s, the younger alien’s expression changing suddenly from pitched worry to grateful relief.

“You’re awake!” Dende breathed, his fists clutching the small burlap bag that was likely carrying a senzu for herself and Piccolo. His steps instantly quickened as he half walked, half sprinted over to Gohan’s side. “Thank goodness.”

Gohan’s eyes felt heavy and strained as she watched the two little beans fall from the folds of the sack and into the palm of Dende’s hands. For a moment, Gohan half expected Piccolo to feed the senzu to her, but when his arm didn’t so much as flinch Gohan grimaced and raised her hand to pluck the bean between her fingers and pop it between her tired lips. Just having the senzu on her tongue was enough for some small touch of its effects to fill her, giving Gohan the strength to chew and swallow. Her body instantly began to tingle, the soreness melting away like sweat off her brow.

A heavy breath fell from her lips, her chest expanding pleasantly as air filled her lungs before being pushed right back out again. She blinked easily, her whole body feeling wonderfully light. Despite how quickly and how thoroughly she had been healed Gohan’s head still felt foggy as she struggled to grasp at what had happened.

The world suddenly felt small again, small and frighteningly delicate beneath her feet. It was a familiar, yet distant feeling one that she hadn’t felt since the fight with Cell when her power had been at its fullest, flowing from her like lava out of a volcano. After weeks, months of training and struggle, that power had come back to her with such sudden fervor, but even as she sat there basking in the remains of her own destruction Gohan felt a chill of fear fill her. 

Gohan looked to Dende, his dark eyes filled with uncertain hesitation. It was clear that her friend was looking for the right words for this moment, just as Gohan was searching her heart for just what to feel. They were likely thinking the same thing, believing that this may well be the end of their little weekend meeting and practice sessions. She was certain that a loneliness had filled them both, for Dende it came from the knowledge that Gohan may no longer be around to visit, but for Gohan it was knowing that she had once again found herself separated from Piccolo and Mother and everyone else by a power she didn’t know how to wield.

She had thought of this moment for so long, half prayed for it and half dreaded it. To be here again meant to be alone, unmatched and unequipped to handle such destructive might. Mother would be proud and it was clear from her mentor’s demeanor that Piccolo was too, but Gohan only felt panic struck at the prospect that she may now have firmly moved beyond their teachings and would be left to explore this strange new world alone.

“You did well today,” Piccolo told her at long last. 

His now mended hand found its way to her shoulder; his touch was consciously light even though Gohan no longer needed that level of care. It drew her gaze, her now healed body still feeling strung and tired as she looked at him and the obvious pride shining in his dark eyes. She shook a bit, anticipating her sensei’s next words as a hard ball of dread sat roughly in her chest. 

“But,” Piccolo began and that certainly was unexpected, “there is still much more that needs to be done.”

Gohan laughed, strained and tight as her lips jittered with the makings of a smile. Relief coursed through her, more cool and soothing that the breeze still pushing through her hair and Gohan felt overwhelmed enough that she forced her gaze away. She looked to Dende and saw relief shining in his own eyes. Somehow that was exactly what they both needed to hear.


	17. The Shower - Part 1

Goku knew that ChiChi was near before she felt his touch. His scent had reached her nose long before his lips could brush against her cheek. Still Goku found herself sighing as she drifted closer to the surface of consciousness when ChiChi ran a tender hand down her arm. Her eyes fluttered open gradually, taking in the sight of the afternoon sun bathing the bedroom in an almost oppressive light. A part of Goku was startled to know that she had fallen asleep, because she didn’t even remember feeling tired, yet here she was nested amongst the pillows and down of their bed while ChiChi smiled fondly at her.

“I’m sorry ta wake ya when yer sleepin’ so peacefully,” ChiChi said apologetically as he inched away from Goku who yawned and rolled carefully onto her back, “but it’s such a nice day an’ I figured we should take advantage.”

Goku blinked and turned towards the clock she knew was near their bedside table. Sure enough it was just a few minutes past noon. ChiChi being home wasn’t completely odd given that he did sometimes return from the fields around this time for lunch, but Goku would have thought that given how soon the harvest would be ready that her husband would be too fixed on work to bother lingering. She pushed herself into a sitting position as another yawn made its way up her throat.

“Cuttin’ off of work?” Goku said teasingly as she rubbed the last bit of the sleep from her eyes. “That ain’t like you.”

ChiChi laughed as he rubbed at Goku’s leg. There was a layer of fabric separating them, but Goku could swear she felt the warmth of ChiChi’s touch as keenly as if his palms were pressed to her thighs. “Okay, ya caught me,” he teased. “I have a devious ulterior motive.”

Goku raised her eyebrows in intrigue. ChiChi’s grin widened as he leaned in to offer her lips a quick peck. 

“I told Pa ta take Gohan to the next town over for nursery supplies,” he explained. “They should be gone most of the day, so I wanted ta spend time jus’ the two of us.”

Goku laughed and placed her hands on either side of her firm belly. Inside her stomach the baby must have still been fast asleep, because she didn’t move an inch in response to the touch. “Well, last time we spent time just the two of us I got pregnant.”

An almost proud laugh bubbled its way up ChiChi’s throat and Goku grinned knowing she had gained the desired response. “Well that’s the sorta thing that happens when a man’s alone with his beautiful wife! Course, seein’ as yer already pregnant now…” The words trailed off as ChiChi’s body dipped forward while he very comically put his mouth onto Goku’s throat and pretended to munch on her neck. 

She giggled and gently shoved his shoulders. Light hearted moods like this were rare for ChiChi even now that things were calm and peaceful and Goku cherished seeing her husband so playful and happy the way he had been when they were just children. She watched as ChiChi pulled away from her with a smile still lingering on his face, one that grew wider when she touched her palm to his strong chin. 

“Remember when it was just the two of us here?” Goku said as she caressed her husband’s cheek. “Before Gohan came along an’ all?”

ChiChi had changed so much since then. They both had, but ChiChi had seemed to transform himself with an odd sort of determination after Gohan had been born. His long hair once hung in a single pony tail down his back in their younger days and was now pulled into a tight topknot upon his head, leaving only a few wisps of hair to frame his face. They were hardly thirty now, but time and age had taken a bit of the twinkle from ChiChi’s dark eyes. At least his skin was looking brown and rich, the warm sun having given him a nice farmer’s tan and robbing ChiChi of the milky white complexion he once had and Goku had to admit that she enjoyed the hardy look. 

A wistful sigh escaped ChiChi as he straightened until he was sitting upright again. “We were jus’ kids then,” he practically whispered. “Only newlyweds livin’ out here in the sticks, my Pa an’ yer friends hundreds of miles away... I reckon I can say it now, but back then this wilderness had me spooked from time to time.”

Goku chortled as she slid over towards the opposite side of the bed, framing her stomach with her hands as her bare feet hit the floor. “Yeah, it sure was different. For a long while I still didn’t know what to make of you.”

A startled silence reached her ears as from the corner of her gaze she watched ChiChi go a touch ridged. “R-really?” he practically gaped.

She chuckled and stood, smoothing out the folded fabric of her wrinkled clothes. “You were so clingy an’ kept followin’ me around with big ole moony eyes. And when you weren’t fussin’ an’ fawnin’ you were makin’ all these weird rules.” She shook her head. “I thought for sure you’d drive me crazy.”

Another silence greeted her, but this one only lasted a moment before ChiChi let out a quick bark of laughter and gave his knee a hardy slap. “Ya thought _I’d_ drive ya crazy? Ya wouldn’t even let me kiss _ya_ for the first few weeks we were married an’ even after that it was like pullin’ teeth ta give ya a _hug_!”

Goku hummed and gave her stomach another rub. “Well, I guess it does sound a bit silly when you put it that way.” She could feel the baby beginning to stir, slowly waking up after their nap. Goku had to wonder why this baby seemed to want to rest so much. By all rights she had just her usual amount of stamina, but at odd parts of the day the baby would start to nap and sap away Goku’s energy as well. “So what did you have in mind for our afternoon? Should I be getting dressed?”

ChiChi took half a moment to glance over at their bedside clock and consider the time, before turning back to Goku. “Yes, but we should probably head out soon. Bulma-sa’ invited us over for afternoon tea.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Gohan and your daddy then?” Goku asked as ChiChi walked over to their closet to grab a few things. “I bet she’d like to visit with Trunks.”

“Gohan-chan’s got studyin’ ta do,” ChiChi reminded her as he pulled out a dark blue changshan with white trimming that Goku hadn’t seen before and laid it across the bed. “An’ sides, my Pa said he’d be workin’ the fields for me while we’re away.”

Goku shrugged and began to peel off her house clothes while ChiChi continued to piece his own outfit together bit by bit. ChiChi was always meticulous about the way he dressed when they went into the city, fearful that he would come off looking like a “classless hick” if he didn’t wear something nice. Not that Goku understood his insecurities. ChiChi looked good in whatever he wore and they were only going to visit Bulma who Goku knew from firsthand experience had a habit of wearing some pretty strange outfits.

She was down to her skin by the time ChiChi began pulling out clothes that were no doubt meant for her. Goku’s fingers were tangled in her black hair as he laid out a loose fitting hanfu. It had a high waist that would make it easy to accommodate Goku’s growing middle and was all soft, snowy blue fabric with some white and gray accents and Goku was quick to turn her nose up at it. “Ugh! ChiChi not that!” she groused. “It’s way too formal.”

ChiChi’s hands stilled, halting midway through smoothing away an invisible wrinkle in the fabric that looked quite silky in the early afternoon light. He looked up at Goku and gave a disapproving frown. Already Goku could see there was a lecture forming on his tongue, a clear sign that his bright mood was fading.

“Goku-sa’,” he began, his tone chiding and strict, but he seemed to reel himself in. With a shake of his head he started over. “Are you sure? This outfit compliments mine.”

“Yeah, but we’re just goin’ ta see Bulma. We ain’t having tea with the King!” 

A touch of frustrated red began to color his cheeks, but ChiChi rubbed it away with the heel of his palm. With a resigned sigh he waved his hands and motioned back towards the closet. “Well, Bulma-sa’ is yer friend. I reckon ya can wear whatever makes ya comfortable.”

Goku smiled and pulled out her gi, the altered one that Lunch had made for her back when she had been carrying Gohan and slipped into that. ChiChi didn’t say anything about the clothes, but Goku could tell from the set of his jaw that he wasn’t exactly happy about it.

*

They flew to West City using the capsule plane ChiChi kept packed away for occasions like this. Goku had suggested taking Kinto’un instead, because traveling by cloud would be faster (although not as fast as using Instantaneous Movement, but Goku knew better than to bother suggesting that) yet ChiChi was quick to turn down the suggestion. “I think we’re a bit too old ta be ridin’ around on yer cloud, Goku-sa’,” he said, a self-mocking smirk pulling at his lips when he spoke. 

They listened to the radio on the way over, but it did nothing to making the time pass any faster and Goku found herself nodding off a few times. “Didja leave a note for Gohan and your daddy back at the house?” Goku asked once they were within the city limits. She was still feeling a bit groggy from the monotony of the long flight and decided that talking would help her feel more alert.

ChiChi nodded distantly as Goku yawned and stretched herself as best as she could in the confined cabin. “I, uh, sure did,” ChiChi said, his eyes still fixed on the skies. 

Their path was now filled with the tangles of buildings and sky tubes of the city, air cars and planes cluttering their path and Goku reasoned that ChiChi needed to focus so she refrained from saying anything else. Instead she just busied herself by playing with the baby, tapping the top of her stomach and feeling the baby respond with a press back in answer to her touch. Goku grinned when she felt feet reach for the palms of her hands. She wondered where the baby’s tail was, imagining that it was likely wrapped around her waist or pillowed beneath her back.

 _A few more weeks,_ Goku thought happily, although it was closer to another month. The idea of having a baby in the house again was getting more exciting with every passing day and Goku couldn’t wait to have this pregnancy come to an end so she could play with the baby properly.

Somehow Goku had been so distracted by her own game that she hadn’t noticed when their plane had touched down in front of the Capsule Compound. “You’re parkin’ up front?” Goku asked once ChiChi had cut the engine. “There’s plenty more space in the back. You should’ve landed there.” 

ChiChi laughed the sound remarkably tight and pinched in a funny way, but the awkwardness only lasted half a second before ChiChi’s took on a more level tone. “Goku-sa’ it ain’t proper to barge in through someone’s back door!” he chided lightly. “Even if Bulma-sa’s expectin’ us, it’s only right that we go in through the front an’ wait for the receptionist ta announce us.”

Goku shrugged and decided to say nothing else. ChiChi was always particular about manners and doing things “proper,” and Goku knew better than to fuss with him about it when it wasn’t really important. 

ChiChi opened the pilot side door and hopped out before walking briskly over to Goku’s side in order to give her a hand. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have bothered waiting for ChiChi to help her down, but Goku’s stomach had grown rounder and made moving uncomfortable enough that she needed a bit of help every now and again. 

Walking along the concrete path towards the main entrance, Goku was tempted to veer over to the side and go around the back knowing that one of Bulma’s parents would likely be there having drinks out under the sun, but ChiChi seemed determined to head straight inside, his fingers wrapping themselves around Goku’s palm and giving her gentle tugs whenever her gaze shifted. 

Goku sighed as her stomach gave a familiar rumble that was punctuated by a few steady kicks from the baby. “I sure hope Bulma has some good snacks this time,” she said as she rubbed at the part of her belly the baby had kicked. “That flight was longer than I thought. We’re starvin’.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure she’s got somethin’ prepared,” ChiChi said confidently, giving Goku’s hand a quick squeeze. 

The woman at the front desk gave them a pleasant smile when they entered and Goku recognized her right away as the same receptionist that had escorted her inside on her previous visit. 

“Hiya Ms. Receptionist,” Goku greeted. “We’re here to see Bulma.”

Ms. Receptionist laughed, her smile taking on an amused curve as she glanced down at something on her computer screen. “Oh yes, Bulma-san is expecting you,” she said before grasping the phone and punching in a few numbers. “I believe she’s out in the courtyard. One moment. I’ll ring and let her know you’ve both arrived.”

“Nah, that’s alright. We know where to go.”

The woman’s head instantly pulled up as she looked between the two as if she were suddenly completely lost. She sputtered a few partial words as Goku grasped ChiChi’s hand and lead him further into the building. 

“I told you we should’ve landed ‘round back,” Goku told him.

“Goku-sa’,” ChiChi began, his voice almost hesitant as he looked around the hall. His face wasn’t exactly red, but it was a bit colored with an odd sort of panic that Goku couldn’t find reason for. “Don’cha think we shoulda let her announce us?”

Goku shrugged. “Bulma knows we’re comin’. She won’t care-”

“Son-kun!”

The sound of Bulma’s perturbed voice was a familiar sound to Goku. She turned and smiled easily at her friend who returned her warm gesture with an annoyed scowl. Bulma was dressed a bit fancier than usual, big shiny hoops dangling from her ears, face painted beautifully, and perfume wafting from her more prominently than on most days, and Goku wondered why Bulma had chosen to fix herself up so much. “Honestly, you’re such a child,” Bulma said testily. “Why didn’t you just let the receptionist announce you?”

“Why? You knew I was comin’.”

Bulma sighed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes in her typical, overly dramatic manner. The gesture caused the fluttery fabric of her yellow floral dress to swish around her legs, yet it did nothing to down play her annoyance. “Your wife is impossible,” she said, pointedly addressing only ChiChi.

A resigned shrug was the only response ChiChi offered as Bulma at last decided to escort them the rest of the way to the patio. 

“It took you two long enough to get here,” she commented chidingly. “I told you we were meeting for lunch, not dinner.”

“ChiChi said you invited us for tea,” Goku corrected. 

Bulma’s steps faltered for half a second as a sheepish look flashed across her face. “Uh, well,” she stammered, touching a self-conscious hand to one of the gold bangles decorating her left wrist. “Lunch, tea, either way it was supposed to be in the afternoon. It’s almost five!”

“Well it was a long flight,” ChiChi reminded her tersely. “An’ there’s a time difference, remember?”

This time Bulma’s pace remained steady as she gave a quick shrug before stopping in front of the large door leading outside. Goku could tell from the smell of fresh air and warm food that the glass door was open, but the curtains were drawn, hiding the yard from their view. “You know, while you’re here I could upgrade your plane,” Bulma suggested, placing a thoughtful hand on her hip. “Maybe even give you a newer model.”

“Ah, ya know I don’t like takin’ handouts, Bulma-sa’,” ChiChi told her wearily. “Our ol’ plane’s jus’ fine for now.”

“Yes, but, what about a bigger one?” Bulma went on. Goku could practically see the designs swirling in her friend’s head as her blue eyes took on a calculating gleam. “An air car with enough room for all four of you?”

ChiChi shrugged, his face growing thoughtful as he seemed to consider Bulma’s offer, but the scent of food was too tantalizing for Goku to resist and she felt herself and the baby growing impatient the longer they stood there. “We can talk ‘bout all that after we eat,” Goku practically whined, her stomach rumbling pointedly

Pushing back the heavy fabric of the curtains, Goku’s senses were hit with a dozen unexpected sights and sounds so suddenly that she had a strange amount of difficulty processing them all. At once she took in the assembly of tables and chairs arranged out in the yard, surrounded by a whole team of stands where people were cooking and preparing meals, while just about all of her friends stood on the patio and turned to stare at her.

Everyone was smiling and shouting as music suddenly swelled up and blared from the speakers off in the distance and Goku actually found herself so overwhelmed that she had to take a step backwards, her back colliding into ChiChi’s firm chest.

ChiChi instantly started to laugh, his hands grasping her shoulders and giving them a tender squeeze while Goku’s head continued to swirl with questions. “We got’cha good, didn’t we Goku-sa’?” he chuckled, planting a quick kiss to the apple of her cheek as he rubbed her shoulders beneath his rough fingers.

“I… I don’t understand,” Goku fumbled, her hands instantly flying to grasp the sides of her stomach as she continued to take in her surroundings. There were balloons and streamers everywhere she looked, the tables all covered in white cloth with flowers at the centers and blue or pink ribbons decorating the backs of the chairs, and even as she stared wide eyed and confused the speakers kept playing an upbeat tune. “Is everyone joinin’ us for tea?”

“No doofus, it’s your baby shower!” Bulma laughed as she looped her right arm around Goku’s left and began leading her down the stone steps and towards the crowd of friends. “It’s a party just for you and the baby.”

“For me?” Goku repeated, confusion still making her head feel a bit uneven.

The sound of glass clattering made her turn her head and Goku watched as Bulma’s Mommy approached them from the side carrying a tray of drinks in her hands. “My my, Bulma you’re too rough with your friends,” Bulma’s Mommy chided in her usual chipper manner. “Congratulations on the baby, Goku-chan. Here, have a drink.”

Goku instinctively reached out to accept the offered glass even though she was still processing everything around her, but it must have been the wrong move because Bulma instantly took the cup out of her hands. 

“Mama! This is _wine_!” Bulma snapped, handing the cup over to ChiChi who barely managed to avoid having any of the deep red liquid splash onto the front of his changshan. “Son-kun can’t drink! She’s _pregnant_ , remember?”

Bulma’s Mommy pouted in dismay at her daughter’s tone. “My, so rude to your mother,” she said in a wounded voice just as Bulma’s Daddy came to stand beside her, holding Trunks in his arms.

“Goku-chan, you look lovely,” he told her. He gave Trunks a quick bounce that was enough to produce a happy squeal from the toddler, yet despite his good behavior Goku still caught the way Bulma was glowering over at him and Goku reasoned it had everything to do with the fact that her Daddy was still smoking while holding Trunks. “Is that a new gi?”

“Oh, no. It’s not,” she managed to say before Bulma gave her arm another tug and continued pulling her away.

“Never mind them, Son-kun,” Bulma said dismissively. “Let me show you where you’ll sit.”

Bulma guided Goku over to a large chair set beneath a gazebo that was wrapped in pink and blue ribbons and decorated with pink roses. The chair looked more like a throne with its gold painted arms and red padded cushions and when Goku sat down Bulma actually placed a flower crown on top of her head. It all felt so strange and overwhelming and when the baby began to give a few quick pushes Goku reasoned that she was feeling out of place as well. 

“So… everyone really came here today for me?” Goku asked. 

On her right ChiChi had started taking thoughtful sips from the wine glass while on her left Bulma was practically preening as she ran a manicured hand down the front of her likely brand new floral dress.

“Of course they did, Son-kun,” Bulma said. “And I planned the whole thing myself. You don’t have to thank me, though. It’s just something any big sister would do for her pregnant little sister.” Bulma punctuated her words by leaning in and giving Goku’s cheek a kiss before wandering off and Goku hoped it was to get her a plate of food.

“If ya ask me,” ChiChi whispered as he leaned in close to Goku’s side, his breath already starting to smell fruity, “she planned the party for _herself_.”

Goku chortled, because she had been thinking along the same lines. 

“Were you surprised, Mother?”

Goku turned to see Gohan walking up to her with Gyumao following close behind. Gohan was also wearing new clothes, her own hanfu looking very much like a child sized version of the one ChiChi had purchased for Goku and even Gyumao had managed to stuff himself into a suit and tie that looked ready to burst at the seams thanks to his massive size. 

She chuckled as Gohan flung herself into her arms, the flowers that had been placed into the girl’s own wild hair tickling Goku’s nose when she returned the embrace. “I sure was,” Goku admitted. “Your Daddy had me goin’ for a while.” Goku smiled and turned to ChiChi who was sporting a grin that was both smug and sheepish. “No wonder you were actin’ so funny.”

“Well, like Bulma-sa’ said, it was all her idea,” he chuckled innocently, “but I couldn’t resist havin’ my own bit o’ fun.”

Gyumao let out a deep, booming laugh at his son’s words before settling his large hand down on the younger man’s shoulder. “ChiChi, why don’t ya stop teasin’ an’ go fix yer wife a plate. I bet she’s right starved.”

“You bet I am!” Goku said enthusiastically, her stomach rumbling at the mere mention of food. Her nose was practically overwhelmed with all the scents in the air, but it came together so nicely that her mouth began to salivate in anticipation. “Is the food any good?”

“Feh! That ‘friend’ o’ yers wouldn’ let us eat nothin’ til ya showed up.” 

Goku looked up at the sound of the new voice and was startled to see Yajirobe and Karin standing at the walkway leading up to the gazebo. “Karin-sama? Yajirobe?” Goku gaped as the swords man and her old sensei approached her. “You came, too?”

Somehow Yajirobe’s face managed to turn even acrider as he huffed and crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “Feh, well ‘cuse me fer comin’ ta yer fancy party! Next time I won’t bother.”

Karin gave a content laugh as he approached the side of Goku’s chair and placed a fond paw on her hand. “Don’t you mind him,” the old sage told her. “My, I certainly am glad to have been invited. I regret that I wasn’t able to express my well wishes when you carried that fine young lady of yours and seeing you so full with life is quite a sight.”

“Karin-sama, that’s sure nice of you to say,” Goku laughed, leaning closer to her sensei in order to allow Karin to place a paw to her belly. She knew that was what he wanted since just about everyone had a tendency to touch her stomach these days. “I’m real glad that you came.”

Karin smiled and touched the swell of her stomach, the baby greeting him with a quick kick. “My, my, what a spirited thing,” he chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll have your hands full with this one.”

“I don’t doubt it,” ChiChi said with a wry smile. He placed a quick hand to Goku’s shoulder before wandering off with Gyumao to get something to eat.

“I can’t believe none of you told me ‘bout this,” Goku said when it was just her and Gohan beneath the gazebo. 

Gohan giggled at the comment. “Mother, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise if we had.”

“I know,” she teased, “but I was just so thrown, is all!”

“Son, you certainly are looking well.”

Goku turned and smiled when she watched Tenshinhan and Chaozu approach her. This time she stood in order to greet the two of them with a fond wave. “You guys came, too?” she laughed. “Bulma must’ve had a hard time trackin’ you down.”

“Gohan actually gave us our invitations,” Tenshinhan explained, offering Gohan a quick nod of appreciation.

“It wasn’t exactly easy for me either,” Gohan admitted sheepishly.

“Well I’m really glad you could make it,” Goku told them both. She gave a fond sigh and touched the side of her stomach, pleased when Tenshinhan visibly stiffened at the gesture, just as she had expected. “Boy this sure brings back memories. Feels like just yesterday I was carryin’ Gohan over here!”

“Mother!” Gohan cried out, a touch of pink spreading across her cheeks. 

“You’re really having another baby?” Chaozu inquired curiously as he floated over to her side and gave her belly a steady pat. It was a bit firmer than Goku had anticipated and the baby responded with several jabs to her stomach. “Is it another girl?”

“I think so, but don’t tell ChiChi. He’s still pullin’ for a boy.”

“Is this where we’re all gathering?” Goku turned just as Yamucha came up beside her and greeted her with a quick hug. She chuckled warmly at him when he pulled away. Already his hair was looking a bit longer than the last time they had seen each other, but he looked quite fine in his navy blue suit and tie. “Goku, how do you always manage to look so good pregnant?”

Goku laughed and gave his arm a fond punch. The jab may have carried more weight than she intended as she caught the way Yamucha grimaced beneath his chuckle. “It’s good seein’ ya too, Yamucha. I guess I should be congratulatin’ you as well, huh? ChiChi said your team won an award or somethin’?”

A frown flashed upon Yamucha’s face, but he was mindful to smooth it away before anyone could make mention of it. “Oh, that. It’s no big deal.” He turned and smiled over at Gohan, whose face began to grow pink once more now that there were eyes upon her again. “Gohan-chan, would you like to help me fix your mother a plate?”

Gohan gave him a shy nod before following Yamucha over to one of the food stations and Goku was practically bouncing on her heels knowing that so many dishes would be coming her way. 

A thought suddenly struck her when she noticed the way Tenshinhan’s gaze seemed to follow Yamucha’s steps even as he wandered across the courtyard and Goku took the opportunity to give his arm a pointed touch. “Say, Tenshinhan,” she began as carefully as she could manage. “Did you ever take my advice about…?”

Goku allowed her words to trail off knowing right away that Tenshinhan would grasp her meaning and sure enough a deep, guilt ridden blush darkened his features. He took a moment to turn to Chaozu and whisper something about finding their table before grabbing Goku’s elbow and pulling her aside once Chaozu was gone. 

“Thank you for your discretion,” Tenshinhan whispered, the red still lingering on his cheeks as he guided Goku towards the rear of the canopy, as if to ensure no one would hear them, “but be mindful that I haven’t exactly told _anyone_ about the situation, not even Chaozu.”

Goku frowned at that, because she didn’t like the idea of her friends keeping secrets even if she was fortunate enough to be on the knowing end of things. Still, Tenshinhan was a private person and she couldn’t say this reluctance to share was unexpected coming from him. Still she remained silent and waited for Tenshinhan to carry on, knowing her friend would need plenty of patience when dealing with this topic. 

Tenshinhan gave their surroundings one final self-conscious glance before sighing and touching a hand to the back of his neck. “I … I did speak with him,” he confessed at last. “We’re on better terms now.”

“So, does that mean?” Goku began, excitement fluttering to life inside of her, but it was brushed away just as quickly by the sad shake of Tenshinhan’s head.

“He’s broken hearted and a bit jaded on such matters,” he explained. “I don’t think he’s really ready for anything and even if he was, it wouldn’t be with me.”

“You’re not givin’ yourself enough credit,” Goku said reassuringly. “He’s not ready now, but give him time. You’re a nice guy an’ Yamucha likes you plenty. I bet things’ll work out sooner or later.”

Tenshinhan bowed his head and offered Goku a wry grin. “I wish I had your optimism, but I can’t allow myself to get my hopes up given the circumstances.”

Goku offered his arm a few steady pats which Tenshinhan reluctantly accepted. It didn’t feel like Tenshinhan to give up on a fight, he’d been in desperate spots before and even when the odds were against him Tenshinhan still did his best. Yet now he seemed ready to pack in after a few failures and that didn’t sit well with Goku, even if this was a strange situation for all of them.

 _It’ll work out,_ Goku thought confidently. _They both just need some more time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from a long absence. I just wrapped up a different story that was taking up a lot of my focus. Hopefully I can finish this one soon, because (believe it or not) I do kinda have ideas for another part in the series. No promises!


	18. The Shower - Part 2

The blow to the head was sudden and unexpected, but if Kuririn were honest he had received so many like it in the past that when he winced it was more out of reflex than actual pain. He turned to see Muten Roshi standing behind him, a freshly refilled mug of beer in his right hand (his third already by Kuririn’s count, but it was possible the old hermit had grabbed a few more when he wasn’t paying attention) and his wooden staff clutched tightly in his left. 

“Muten Roshi-sama,” Kuririn began, a petulant whine already at the tip of his tongue as he rubbed the patch of his head that had just been struck. 

Yet Muten Roshi cut off the rest of his words with a sharp frown and a pointed grunt as he motioned towards the gazebo on the other end of the yard. “Kuririn,” he chided sternly. “The guest of honor has been here for some time. Shouldn’t you go say hello?”

Kuririn felt his face instantly begin to grow hot at his master’s words. It was silly to put something so simple off, but even though Kuririn had been preparing himself for this moment for weeks he still felt like a bundle of nerves at the prospect of seeing Goku. He groaned and looked longingly down at the drink gripped in his hands, still only half empty. He had a feeling that even if he were to drink three more he still wouldn’t feel ready.

The warm palm of a delicate hand settled on top of his scalp and this time when Kuririn’s face warmed it felt a bit pleasant. “The old man’s right,” Eighteen told him, her voice cool and detached as usual even as her fingers stroked idly against the smooth surface of his scalp. “Let’s go say hi to your friend.”

Kuririn’s ear perked up at Eighteen’s words, yet when he turned towards her the woman’s face gave nothing away. “Are… are you sure?” 

Eighteen shrugged, her blonde hair catching the light of the afternoon sun when she brushed it back with a flick of her wrist. Her every gesture exuded indifference, bur Kuririn felt confident that he had grown familiar enough with Eighteen over the past few months to see she was growing anxious herself. Still knowing that Eighteen would be near made Kuririn feel a touch better even if having her see Goku so suddenly was likely to be a bad idea. 

Kuririn swallowed the rest of his drink as Muten Roshi gave his side a pointed a jab, the old man’s patience running thin as he likely saw through Kuririn’s intentional delay. Kuririn placed his glass aside on the waiting table before heading over to the gazebo with Eighteen. His heart was pounding deeply in his chest, the sound echoing in his ears as the rest of his body seemed to grow red to match the flush on his face. They passed Tenshinhan, on his way towards Chaozu no doubt, and Kuririn could only offer his old friend a quick nod as he focused his attention on the task of making his feet carry him up the wooden steps of the gazebo.

“Kuririn!”

The sound of his name sent a jolt through his body and as ever Goku’s voice was several notches louder than necessary. He grimaced and looked up, but before his eyes could meet their target, Kuririn felt himself being pulled forward. Goku’s movements weren’t particularly swift, by her own measure, but she always had a way of catching him off guard and before Kuririn could react he found himself wrapped in a pair of arms made of lean muscle and pressed against a pair of breasts that had grown soft and tender over the past few months. Every inch of him was alight with embarrassment as Kuririn’s mind scrambled knowing that Eighteen was standing right beside him watching this display. 

“Kuririn! I’m so happy to see you,” Goku all but gushed. She lifted him clear off the ground as her strong arms continued to crush him effortlessly. “It’s been so long. I was startin’ to think you were mad at me or somethin’.”

“Goku,” he managed to say when at last his friend loosened her grasp, setting his feet back down to the earth below. His head still felt a bit unsteady from all of Goku’s jostling, but when he looked up and met her gaze he found himself feeling grounded by the weight of her dark eyes. She was smiling so brightly, but the depths of her gaze held a sort of worry and relief that Kuririn instantly recognized as his own doing. “I, uh, I’m sorry I didn’t come see you sooner,” he said guiltily. 

“It’s alright,” Goku told him in her ever breezy and carefree tone. She stood a bit straighter and it was suddenly as if the months of worry and doubt had instantly been erased with Kuririn’s stumbling words. “You’re here now and I bet there’s a bunch we need to catch up on.”

Kuririn’s eyes caught the way her hands had gone to frame either side of her stomach, the gesture causing his own insides to tighten. Her belly was just as round and full as it had been in the days before Gohan’s birth and more than anything Kuririn felt his own remorse deepen knowing that he had kept away so selfishly during such a crucial time in his friend’s life.

His mind was busy swirling, but the darkening path of regret was pushed away when Eighteen placed a hand on his shoulder. Her touch was simple and the mere feel of her skin against his side was enough to bring some relief to him. 

“Son Goku,” Eighteen began and even without looking, Kuririn could hear the sardonic smile in her words. “We meet at last.”

Goku’s eyes widened at the sight of Eighteen and from her slightly startled demeanor it was clear that Goku was registering the other woman’s presence for the first time. Kuririn grew tense. This was another moment he had been dreading and it was just like Eighteen to purposely rile things up for her own amusement. He could feel the sweat slip down the side his face and towards his neck, because if Goku didn’t see any humor in Eighteen’s remark then they could potentially have a mess on their hands.

“You must be one of the androids,” Goku said simply. A friendly smile eased upon her features, the initial shock easily melting away as she studied Eighteen carefully. Goku laughed, her hands shifting into a more comfortable position, but never once did her touch leave the swell of her stomach. “It’s funny, ain’t it? I spent so much time preparin’ for you and we never got to meet proper ‘til now.”

Kuririn looked up just in time to see Eighteen’s features falter at the sound of Goku’s country drawl and a part of him was surprised that Gero’s data didn’t include details about how much of a bumpkin Son Goku was. “Yeah,” she said, a slight edge of distaste coloring her words at the mention of her former life, “funny. I’d offer to fight you now, but given the circumstances…”

Goku laughed and gave the sides of her belly a firm pat. “Yeah, I’m too pregnant,” she joked. Her smile widened as she continued to look Eighteen up and down. “Wow, you’re real pretty,” she said suddenly, her voice kicking up a few levels unnecessarily and causing Kuririn to duck his head self-consciously. “I can see why Kuririn likes you. He really likes pretty girls.”

“Goku!” Kuririn chided sharply, but neither woman seemed to notice his distress. Distantly he knew that his embarrassment was unwarranted. They were, after all, surrounded by friends and familiar faces who knew exactly what Goku was like, yet still Kuririn felt himself squirming at the attention his friend could potentially draw with her unnecessarily loud tone and carelessly considered words.

“Well, thank you I guess,” Eighteen shrugged, confused yet willing to accept the awkwardly phrased compliment. 

“I hope you’ve been nice to him. He’s my best friend an’ all.”

Eighteen’s brow furrowed just a touch, her mouth lips twitching into a small grimace at Goku’s words, no doubt taking it in a more accusatory manner than it had been intended. “Of course,” she said tersely, a mild challenge slipping into her voice.

Goku’s smile never wavered, but there was a gleam in her eyes that clearly said she was pleased by the answer. “An’ he’s been nice to you, right?” she asked.

A sliver of tension eased from Eighteen’s shoulders, the twist of her lips looking less defensive as she considered Goku’s question. “He’s always nice.”

“That’s good. I knew he’d be a good boyfriend someday. Hey, ya ever been to a farm before? My husband has a nice one. You should stop by an’ see it. There’s plenty of room in the mountains so when I have this baby you an’ me can have a go at it.” 

A soft chortle fell from Eighteen’s lips as she closed her eyes and allowed her gaze to slip away from Goku’s face for the first time. “That sounds nice.”

“Sorry for the wait,” ChiChi called out. Kuririn turned around to see him approaching their small group carrying a plate filled with a towering pile of food in each hand. Gyumao, Gohan, and even Yamucha were following close behind him, each holding two plates or more in their hands and Kuririn knew right away that each dish was a sacrifice intended for the guest of honor. “There’s a lot to offer so we did our best ta get a bit of everythin’ for ya.”

Goku’s eyes were practically dancing as she took the first plate – a nest of udon noodles stacked with steamed dumplings, stir fry chicken, and at least six egg rolls – and held it gratefully in her hands. “Oh this looks right tasty!” Goku swooned, her mouth already salivating as she plucked the offered chopsticks from between ChiChi’s fingers. “We should have a baby shower more often!”

ChiChi gave a nervous laugh as the others filed into the gazebo in search of a place to lay out the rest of Goku’s meal. “Heaven forbid! I think three Saiya-jins are enough for any man.” ChiChi’s gaze began to wander, his eyes landing on Eighteen who was staring in quiet horror at the amount of food that had been amassed and was waiting to be devoured by a very eager Goku. “Oh, I’m sorry. Where are my manners? I’m Goku-sa’s husband, ChiChi. It’s a pleasure.”

Eighteen snapped out of her daze and turned towards ChiChi who was currently offering his hand in greeting. For a moment she looked startled by the gesture, calculating its meaning and ChiChi’s intentions, but eventually she extended her own palm towards him and offered his hand a friendly squeeze. “I know.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in fully, but when it did ChiChi did a remarkable job of holding his feelings down, likely very conscious of their surroundings. “Ah, you’re one of the Androids, right? Bulma-sa’ told me ya were seein’ Kuririn.” ChiChi spared a glance to his wife who was currently blissfully slurping away at her second bowl of noodles. “Let me guess, she invited ya ta come see the farm, didn’ she?”

Eighteen nodded, a wry grin curling her lips. 

ChiChi sighed. “That’s my wife for ya.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t take her up on the offer.”

“Nah, it’s more than fine if ya do. There’s plenty of room an’ it’ll make Goku plenty happy ta see Kuririn more often.”

Eighteen grinned softly. “Well then we’ll be sure to stop by.”

*

Bulma felt her lips curl into a triumphant smile as she took a moment to survey her handy work. The courtyard was full, yet not quiet cluttered, as the group of guests milled around and created pleasant conversation. There were dozens of vendors serving endless amounts of food from the best restaurants in West City, their various cooking styles and selections enough to keep everyone’s palette entertained and the guest of honor’s belly satisfied. 

No one had even touched the dance floor that she had ordered to be assembled, but Bulma had expected as much and allowed herself to bob her head and tap her feet to the music that seemed to be agreeing with the others in attendance. 

Mama kept wandering around offering people drinks, but that was fine. Instinct had told her that alcohol probably clashed with the atmosphere of a proper baby shower, but Bulma suspected it was best to keep this band of fighting obsessed lunk heads appeased by offering some beer and wine and of course there had to be champagne for her toast later on.

Her blue eyes shifted over to the gazebo that had been installed and decorated just for this event. She could see Goku there, surrounded by a growing stack of empty dishes while ChiChi stood by her elbow laughing encouragingly as his wife continued to make an outlandish amount of food disappear without ever stopping to take a single breath. Goku hadn’t stopped eating which could only mean that she was having a good time and as far as Bulma was concerned her self-appointed mission had been thoroughly accomplished.

 _Take that Vegeta,_ she found herself thinking as she took a light sip from her wine glass.

She hadn’t seen Vegeta in days, not since their fight when Bulma had told him she would repair his ship. She had made good on the promise, even if it was just something that she had said in the heat of the moment, setting aside a few hours during the evening to make repairs and plans for redesigns, but the Saiya-jin had made himself more scare than usual. Bulma knew he was around, the amount of food disappearing from the refrigerator and store rooms a clear indication that Vegeta was somewhere in the compound and Bulma had a feeling that Vegeta wasn’t so much avoiding her as keeping to himself. 

Not that she had been seeking his company either. It was something neither of them really did: pursue each other. Between her usual projects and planning the shower, these last few months had offered Bulma little time to spare and whatever free moments she had she willingly gave to Trunks. Yet now that the tireless effort of party planning was coming to an end Bulma had enough energy to really reflect on Vegeta’s absence. 

From the start Vegeta had firmly insisted that he would not participate in the events of the shower and after their fight the likelihood of the Saiya-jin prince making an appearance had plummeted, but that hadn’t stopped Bulma from wanting him to be there. She wished that had changed his mind, that some last minute change of heart had brought him to her side so she could gloat properly in his ears. Surveying the dozen or so content faces of her friends, she longed to ridicule Vegeta as he devoured her skillfully assembled meals, preen at the mile high stack of presents she had organized, and chortle haughtily in his ears every time someone told her how wonderful everything was. 

The fruity bouquet of her wine tickled her nose as she allowed the rim of the glass to rest thoughtfully on her lips. It felt strange to think of Vegeta or even miss him when they had nothing in common aside from the baby they had created. Yet if Bulma were being honest, everything about her “relationship” with Vegeta had been strange. It had been strange to be lured in by his brooding animalistic energy, it had been strange to find excitement in the danger of his presence, it had been strange to put her decade long relationship in jeopardy by being with him, and it was stranger still to keep his child when she knew full and well there’d be no guarantee of a future for any of them.

Bulma frowned and took a hardy gulp of her drink, swallowing it stubbornly without thought for the flavor. _I don’t want to think about it,_ she told herself tersely. _I’m_ not _going to think about it. Not today._

The elbow brushing her side was so quick and faint that Bulma would have ignored the contact completely were it not for the hasty “sorry” uttered by a voice she had known far too intimately not to recognize instantly. Bulma turned to glance over her shoulder at almost the same instant as Yamucha. Their eyes locked as Yamucha’s hand stilled in the middle of its task of piling another drumstick on top of the towering stack of chicken that had been assembled on his plate. Despite Yamucha’s own impressive appetite, Bulma knew that the food was meant for Goku just as his last few plates had been and the sight was amusing enough that it brought a pleasant smile to her lips, one that she felt comfortable sharing with him. Yamucha, however, didn’t respond the way she had expected. Instead of returning her easy grin, his eyes ducked towards the ground as he muttered something under his breath and began to shift away. 

Bulma wasn’t exactly drunk per se. She was still nursing and had consciously kept track of every drop of wine that had crossed her lips, but she had a feeling it was the glass and a half she had drank that made reaching out and grasping Yamucha’s arm seem like a good idea in that moment. “Yamucha! I’m glad you were able to make it,” she greeted him warmly in a voice that was as sweet and pleasant as honey. “Are you having a good time?” 

Yamucha’s eyes fell to where her hand rested on his arm before shifting towards the plate in his grasp and over to the place across the yard where Goku and her family were still gathered beneath the shade of the gazebo. It was clear that he was avoiding her gaze, because they had not been on the best of terms for some time. Yet Bulma couldn’t really understand why this awkwardness needed to linger any further. Everything that had happened between them was now far in the past; Cell and the looming threat of death had been erased almost a year ago, her baby had been born nearly two years ago, and their relationship had come to an end almost three years ago. To keep avoiding each other when they had nearly two decades of shared history just seemed ridiculous, but it was just like Yamucha to duck and weave around an uncomfortable situation instead of facing it head on. Bulma decided to do them both the favor of carrying on when Yamucha did no more than offer another mumbled answer.

“I guess I should be congratulating you. Word is your team won the championship. I’m sure there was a pretty hefty bonus for you, carrying them to victory the way you did.” Bulma chortled, slapping Yamucha’s arm good naturedly, but he didn’t seem to share even a fraction of her mirth as a hollow, fragmented sound came from his throat.

“Well, they were pretty quick to offer me a salary increase,” Yamucha shrugged, his gaze lingering on the stack of steaming food in his hand. “But it was nothing really.”

The stiff set of Yamucha’s shoulders and conscious lack of eye contact spelled out his discomfort as clear as day, but Bulma felt no sympathy for him. Her hand withdrew from where it had been touching his side to rest heavily on the curve of her own hip. Free from her touch, Yamucha instantly began to move away and Bulma allowed her own displeasure to show as clear as day on her face. 

“You could at least look at me, you know?” Bulma snipped tersely. “I’m _trying_ to be polite, but you’re not making it easy!”

At last her words produced a reaction other than awkward hesitation from Yamucha, but Bulma wasn’t exactly pleased by the way his lips pressed into a line as his brows knitted together in growing anger. “I … I don’t wanna cause a scene,” he said quickly as he very smartly kept his voice low and even, “but I’m not the one who wrecked things to begin with so excuse _me_ for not making things ‘easy’ for _you._ ”

Bulma bristled, the fingers that had been wrapped around the stem of her wine glass tightening in response to Yamucha’s words and the clipped tone he had used to deliver them. “I already apologized,” she reminded him. “What happened with Vegeta was a careless mistake, but I didn’t hide anything. I told you right away, didn’t I?”

“But you still did it.” Yamucha frowned as his eyes fell tightly shut. It was clear from the tense set of his jaw that he was holding back a few hundred or so words he had been longing to say to her, because it really wasn’t the time or place to lay it all out. With a slow, deliberate breath, Bulma watched as Yamucha’s chest rose and fell before his eyes finally opened again. “I know it’s been a few years, but that doesn’t make this… If I’m being honest, we weren’t going to work and we both knew it, you were just the one to put an end to it. In a lot of ways, I’m glad we’re not stuck together in that miserable rut we were in before, but… but it still hurt. You went behind my back and you knew I’d never do something like that to you.”

Tension seized her this time, pressing down against the heated rebuttal she wanted to let fly, but for once kept inside. It would have been easy to cause a scene, but this day wasn’t about her, it was for Goku and even if Son-kun would forgive her for starting a quarrel, Bulma still willed herself to remain level headed. 

“I… you’re right,” Bulma relented. She sighed and willed her fingers to relax. “I wish it hadn’t happened the way it did, but… if things hadn’t been so crazy maybe we could’ve actually talked…”

Yamucha frowned and offered his head a slow shake. “Things were always crazy and dizzyingly fast with us. It was that same crazy rush that pushed us together. It was only fitting that it made us fall apart.”

Bulma hummed and shifted the glass in her hands. It was lighter than she had expected it to be and when Bulma looked down she was dismayed to find that the glass was nearly empty. From the corner of her eyes she could see the way Yamucha’s body was shifting, his posture clearly indicating that he was once again looking for an escape and as tempted as she was to give that to him, she simply couldn’t let the conversation end there. “Yamucha?” she ventured, her even tone causing his shoulders to hunch as he looked back at her. “Do you really think we were in a rut?”

Yamucha’s expression was thoughtful as he quietly debated something with himself. He seemed to turn thoughts over in his mind a few times before looking her way. His dark eyes were reluctant and sad. She had seen that remorseful gleam in his gaze before, but this time there was no longing or love to be found beneath it, only a weariness that had likely been there all along. “I think we needed a push,” he explained. “One of us needed to take a chance and move things along and you were just the one to do it first.”

*

The party had been in full motion for some time when their feet landed on the well-manicured lawn behind the Capsule Compound. Piccolo had not consciously intended to be late, even if he had felt that arriving after the start of the festivities would be… _easier_ , but traveling with Dende meant flying at a slower pace than normal given the younger Namekian’s limited skill in that regard. 

Dende was already breathing a bit harder than normal, his green skin glistening with sweat and flushed from effort. The young guardian had refused Piccolo’s many offers to take a break, insisting that he was perfectly fine and would rest when they arrived. His excitement had been obvious from sunrise and the boy’s lack of practice with ki outside of his usual healing arts would not deter him in his desire to socialize. 

A fond smile pulled on his lips and Piccolo told himself it was the lingering bits of Nail resurfacing inside of him. 

“Do you think Gohan-san is already here?” Dende asked. His usually meek voice was a touch breathless, yet full of anticipation as he walked briskly across the familiar yard. It seemed like just yesterday that the population of the former Planet Namek had resided on the compound, but Piccolo had to remind himself that those days were far behind them. 

As they turned the corner, Piccolo was mindful to school his features, smoothing away the lingering grin and pulling on his more customary stern expression. “I’m sure she is,” Piccolo answered, raising his voice a tad in order to be heard over the lively music that seemed to be swelling higher with each step they took. 

Rows of vendors soon appeared before their eyes, the smell of seasoned food and the sound of friendly chatter having been obvious long before they arrived on the compound proper. Piccolo was tempted to remind Dende to take a moment to catch his breath and have a drink, but instead reminded himself that he was not the boy’s keeper and kept the words to himself.

“Well, it took you long enough.”

Piccolo turned to his side to see Bulma standing a few paces away. She was holding a nearly empty glass of wine in her left hand, but her expression still looked very much alert as her blue eyes gazed up at him. There was a light touch of annoyance coloring her expression, but Piccolo only continued to regard her mildly. “Son and her family have already arrived?” he asked.

Bulma’s face shifted into a slight frown as she cupped the glass between her hands in a gesture that allowed her glossy fingers to drum against the smooth surface. “About an hour ago,” she confirmed. Her expression turned softer when her eyes drifted in Dende’s direction. “I know you two don’t eat, but I made sure there was plenty to drink.”

Dende gave a timid smile as he approached Bulma. “Is Gohan-san here?” he asked.

Bulma let out a soft chortle as she pointed across the courtyard towards a gazebo where Son and her family had gathered. From the distance Piccolo could see that Son was eating at a pace that should have been alarming if it were anyone else. There was an impressive stack of empty dishes around her and several steaming helpings of rice, soup, dumplings, noodles, and just about every type of stir fry imaginable waiting to be devoured. Gohan was there as well, standing by her mother’s side as she chatted happily with her grandfather. Her eyes flickered in their direction and the girl’s face was nearly split in two by the grin she offered the two Namekians. 

Dende didn’t bother to wait for a formal invitation. He spared only a moment to offer Piccolo and Bulma a brief “excuse me” before heading off in his friend’s direction.

The urge to grin pulled at Piccolo’s cheek muscles, but he held back, mindful that Bulma was still standing a few paces away. 

As if sensing that his thoughts had drifted in her direction, the woman reconfirmed her presence by taking a few steps closer, positioning herself firmly beside him. “It’s nice to see them like this,” Bulma said conversationally. “Children really should have a chance to just be… well, children.”

A deep hum escaped him as his eyes lingered on the two in question. Their bright smiles and shining eyes no less brilliant even from the distance. He was suddenly reminded of how hard he had been pushing them both these last few months. Each had made such progress in their training, but even with that thought in mind Piccolo couldn’t help agreeing with Bulma’s words.

“The world rests in their hands,” he told the woman as he crossed his arms over his chest. “But I suppose that it’s only fitting they take a moment to relish in this time of peace.”

He could feel Bulma’s approving smile fall upon him even as his gaze remained on the children who were now running across the yard, likely to find some game or such to amuse them. “Especially Gohan-kun,” Bulma said wistfully. From the corner of his eye he caught the way she shifted, her arms crossing comfortably over her midsection as her left hand cradled the wine glass in a loose, almost careless manner. “It seems like just yesterday that Son-kun was carrying her and we were all worried about…”

The woman’s words came to a sputtering halt and it was no effort at all for Piccolo to piece together that he had been the source of their past worries. He turned his sharp eyed gaze in Bulma’s direction only to find that her cheeks had turned a bit flushed as she diverted her eyes a half second too late. Piccolo allowed himself a brief, sharp toothed grin at her expense. He would never admit as much out loud, but the reminders of his older, more vicious self, made him at times a bit nostalgic. 

“I, uh, I’ll get you something to drink,” Bulma offered, although it was her own glass she had been peering into as she walked briskly away from his side.

It seemed no sooner than Bulma had left that Piccolo found himself approached by another familiar face. He turned to greet Kuririn before the small human could even finish extending his greeting. 

“So Bulma roped you into coming to this too, huh?” Kuririn said in welcome, a friendly smile sitting comfortably on his lips. “She really is something.”

Piccolo hummed in agreement as he took just a moment to glance around. Between the clutter of servers and vendors he caught sight of dozens of familiar faces, all of them somehow pulled away from their respective corners of the world to be here today.

“What’s funny is,” Kuririn went on, sliding his hands into his pockets in a casual gesture, “I woulda thought for sure Vegeta would be here, him and Bulma being… whatever they are, but I haven’t seen a single trace of him all day.”

Piccolo frowned and leveled Kuririn with an appraising look. Clearly the other man’s senses had dulled a touch during their brief reprieve from training. “What are you talking about? He’s been here this whole time.”

“Vegeta’s here?”

Shamed as he was to admit it, Piccolo actually found himself bristling at the unexpected sound of Son’s voice from just over his shoulder. He was mildly relieved at least that Kuririn was far more thrown off than him, nearly jumping out of his skin at the woman’s sudden arrival. Piccolo turned to look at her only to find Goku staring up at him with an innocent, yet curious look on her face.

“Son. When did you…?”

“I just got up to stretch my legs,” she explained offhandedly and Piccolo suddenly realized that his own senses could use a bit of sharpening. “But, whaddya mean Vegeta’s here? I ain’t seen him ‘round at all.”

Piccolo frowned and motioned off towards the horizon he had flown across just moments ago. “I spotted him on my flight over,” he explained. “He was over by the lake near the property’s edge.”

“So he’s been lurking in the distance this whole time?” Kuririn asked, distaste coloring his words. “You don’t think he’s plotting something underhanded, d’ya?”

Even without asking Piccolo could tell that Kuririn had meant the question as a joke, but there was still a touch of genuine worry to his words.

“Doubtful,” Piccolo answered, recalling there had been no trace of malice to Vegeta’s ki when he had sensed it, although he had been too focused on minding Dende to put much thought to the Saiya-jin’s mood.

“Well, I best go check on ‘im,” Son ventured, taking off into the air without another word. Her pace was slow and leisurely as she ascended upwards towards the clouds before drifting over to the lake as if carried off by the slight breeze that had filled the air.

“G-Goku-sa’! Where ya goin’?” Son’s husband came sprinting towards them, his words catching the attention of the other guests who all took a moment to glance at Goku’s retreating figure before turning back to whatever they had been doing. Yet ChiChi didn’t seem content to just leave things be, instead choosing to glower at his wife’s form as he placed a firm hand on either hip. “That woman,” he huffed. “Runnin’ out on her own party. I tell ya…”

Piccolo had half expected Kuririn to respond, but when he looked down he was mildly dismayed to see that the shorter human had taken the brief distraction as an opportunity to sneak away. The thought of doing the same was tempting, but Piccolo reasoned there was no harm in lingering for just a moment. 

“I wouldn’t worry,” Piccolo offered, his words startling ChiChi in a way that clearly indicated the man hadn’t taken notice of his presence right away. “She’s just gone off to check on Vegeta.”

“Vegeta?” ChiChi echoed. His frown had deepened and Piccolo had to wonder if the sour disposition was meant for him or the other Saiya-jin. Likely both. “But Vegeta ain’t here.”

“He was over by the lake,” Piccolo explained again. “No doubt he did not want to participate in the festivities.”

ChiChi responded by grumbling something that was really just fragments of words rather than an actual intelligible sentence. He glared down at his feet before turning his disapproving gaze off towards where Gohan and Dende had wandered. In the short time that the two children had gotten together they had started a game of sorts involving spare paper plates and plastic cups. Dende was stacking his pieces into a tower while Gohan seemed to be using the utensils to turn the cups into crude dolls. There was likely no sense to their game, just fun for the sake of it and Piccolo reasoned it was all harmless enough.

Piccolo spared a fleeting glance back to ChiChi only to see that his disposition hadn’t changed. He was still staring with a hardened gleam in his eyes, his jaw and the muscles in his hands tight as his being radiated irritation that Piccolo knew instantly was not directed at the children. The Kami in him was eager to avoid a confrontation by retreating, the small remaining fragments of Nail whispered the suggestions of striving to ease the tension by making conversation, but Piccolo only choose to hold his ground and wait for ChiChi to either confront him or back down. Either way he was determined not to be the one to concede.

After what had likely been a lengthy internal debate ChiChi closed his eyes and let out a small huff before finally turning to meet Piccolo’s gaze. “I’d say it wasn’t my idea ta invite ya, but I reckon ya already know,” ChiChi said, his words flat and direct. He spoke with a steely resolve that would almost make one forget that the human was far below Piccolo’s own strength and he gave him some credit for that. “An’ I hafta admit, I didn’t think ya’d come at all.”

 _I came for Gohan,_ Piccolo would have said, but the answer was so obvious that he decided not to give it.

Again ChiChi closed his eyes and shook his head in a weary, almost exhausted gesture before turning to better face Piccolo. As with nearly every other person Piccolo had come to know, ChiChi stood far below him in height, the top of the human’s head being nearly level with the tip of his nose, but the way ChiChi stood firmly planted in front of him with his fisted hands on his hips almost made it seem that the human had dismissed their different statures as being meaningless. There was an almost challenging air to his demeanor and if Piccolo didn’t already know better, a part of him would have thought ChiChi were preparing for a fight. Perhaps he was. Not with fists, but instead a verbal spar was more along the lines of what the human had in mind. 

“Ya know, I can understand it in a way,” he began, the firm edge in his words almost erasing his country drawl. ChiChi shifted, leaning his weight to one side as he moved to cross his arms over his chest. “The thing between you an’ Goku? I may not be much of a fighter, but I know enough ‘bout budo an’ the like that I understand a rivalry. What I don’t understand… what I’ll never understand is why ya did what ya did ta my girl.” He closed his eyes, his entire expression growing tight as if pained for half a moment before he willed himself to open his eyes and meet Piccolo’s gaze again. There was still hard, flat steel in his dark eyes, but Piccolo hadn’t expected anything less. “Ya took a girl no more than a babe from her mother’s dyin’ arms an’ tortured her out in the woods. Now ya come ‘round here actin’ all fatherly an’ such. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand where ya get off!”

Piccolo looked across the yard and back towards where the children were playing. Gohan was sitting cross legged on the grass, holding her crudely constructed doll made of plastic scraps, mining it to climb up Dende’s tower of paper. It was a simple act, but it was enough to make the children grin and giggle.

“I wanted to corrupt her,” Piccolo said, flat and honest. “I wanted to turn her against her mother and her kind, to bring her over to my side and in time make her a servant of the Mazoku.” His gaze remained across the yard watching the children, but he could see the way ChiChi’s face had reddened, jaw tight and arms trembling with anger at the frank words. “That had been my original intent, but instead of changing her, she in turn changed me.” The human’s posture had, somehow, grown stiffer, the shuddering tension seizing at the words as Piccolo turned to look down at him at last. “I don’t expect you to understand or approve, but that’s simply how it is.”

ChiChi gave a quick huff as he turned away for half a moment, before just as quickly looking back up at Piccolo. “Yer right ‘bout that,” he said in a voice that was still tight but a touch less confrontational. “I ain’t never gonna be happy ‘bout this. I won’t ever nod my head an’ approve. But I reckon… I reckon that girl o’ mine is jus’ like her ma.” A shadow of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips as a flash of pride danced in his gaze. “They both have a way o’ makin’ folks different jus’ by bein’ near ‘em.” 

Piccolo hummed in agreement and wondered not for the first time if it wasn’t just Gohan who had changed him, but Son Goku herself. After all, even before Gohan had softened his heart, Goku had been the one to give him a second chance, offering him an olive branch by restoring his health when his only motivation was to see her dead. He supposed that ChiChi was right as both Goku and Gohan had a strange way of seeing the best in people.

Without another word or even an amicable glance in his direction, ChiChi turned and left, wandering over to some other end of the compound and Piccolo turned on his heels to do the same.


	19. The Shower - Part 3

Even without feeling for his ki, Vegeta was relatively easy to find. The flight across the property took Goku less than a minute and she spotted Vegeta almost instantly lurking a few paces away from the lake shore just as Piccolo had said. Vegeta was sitting hunched over when Goku found him, his legs curled lazily beneath his form, his back curved in a posture that looked both slack and tense all at once. His gaze was fixed at a point across the water and towards the thin line of tress on the other side of the property, but Goku could already tell that Vegeta was acutely aware of her presence. 

Goku landed a few paces behind him, eager to touch her feet to the ground. Flight wasn’t a particularly draining technique, but her awkward shape made the task more uncomfortable than usual and even flying a short distance required Goku to cradle her stomach to keep it from hanging too uncomfortably. Once she was firmly planted on the earth again, Goku gave her stomach a quick pat to check in with the baby who didn’t seem to have been the least bit put out by their trip. She smiled, confident that all the good food they had eaten back at the party had left the baby far too happy to be bothered by a few moments of discomfort.

There were empty plates circling Vegeta where he sat, a few of them stacked up in a neat tower while several others lay scattered along the grass. There was an open case of wine resting at Vegeta’s hip, several empty bottles resting on their side and one bottle that was still partly full leaning in an odd angle against Vegeta’s thigh. Goku had to step lightly, minding where her feet landed amongst the tangled nest of discarded bottles and plates. She could smell the pungent aroma of sweat emitting from Vegeta, the odor mingling with the sweet scent of wine and lingering hints of cooked food in the air.

“Shouldn’t you be with your friends at that inane party they threw for you?” Vegeta asked, his words coming out a bit tilted despite his confrontational edge.

Goku had suspected that Vegeta was drunk, but his voice just confirmed her suspicions. It was a strange thing to see as Vegeta looked just as tense and battle ready as ever, not at all the stumbling sight that Kame Sennin often became when he drank too much, and a part of Goku wondered if this was how all Saiya-jins acted when they were intoxicated. 

“I ate a whole bunch and I wanted ta stretch my legs,” Goku explained as she carefully lowered herself to the ground beside him. It was no easy feat given her bulky frame, but even as she awkwardly sat down on the warm grass she still took a moment to chortle when Vegeta groused and pointedly shifted away from her. “I heard you were lurkin’ nearby. I figured I’d keep you company.”

Again Vegeta snorted as he reached over to his side and groped for his drink. He guzzled it down like water, wiping roughly at his mouth with the back of his hand when he had drank his fill, never once turning to look in Goku’s direction. “The last thing I want is your company.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And yet here you are.”

Goku shrugged her shoulders and tucked her legs beneath her body as best as she was able. Far behind her she could hear snippets of the baby shower, the once blaring party music now a faint whisper and the scent of food too distant for even her nose to detect. The sound of birds chirping and water gently lapping against the shore was a steady, pleasant melody in her ears and the sunlight shimmering against the clear water a far more pleasant sight than all the plastic flowers and oversized ribbons had been. Of course she would never say such a thing to Bulma, not after all the effort her friend had put into this day.

Taking in a deep breath of air, Goku leaned back on her elbows and allowed the winter sun to caress her skin. A part of her was tempted to take off her shoes and stick her toes into the long grass, but she resisted knowing that the seemingly simple task would be a struggle thanks to her bulging stomach.

“She didn’t ask about me, did she?”

Goku glanced over to her side at Vegeta’s hunched form. He hadn’t shifted from his tightly curled state and his gaze was still locked on the horizon. For a moment Goku questioned whether or not he had actually spoken given his pointedly tight lipped and aggressive demeanor, but after some thought Goku decided to take a chance and just assume that he had. 

“Who d’ya mean?”

“You know who,” Vegeta sneered, his determination to say as little as possible becoming more obvious.

She hummed and considered the question again. It was clear now that Vegeta was referring to Bulma, but she couldn’t recall Bulma ever mentioning Vegeta that. Although, looking back, Goku realized that she hadn’t spoken to Bulma much beyond their brief exchange when she had arrived at the baby shower. 

“Nah, can’t say she did.” 

Again Vegeta sneered, his grip around the wine bottle’s neck tightening as he lifted it back to his lips, only to find that it was empty. He gave a huff and lobbed it up and over to the lake where it landed with a splash that sent water high into the air before sprinkling down around them.

“That damn woman,” he growled, his voice dropping lower than Goku had heard it in a while as his shoulders grew tense. “She did this all for herself, you know? It’s not for you. It’s all meant for her.”

“Yeah, I know,” Goku shrugged. 

If Vegeta heard her response, then he decided to ignore it, choosing instead to carry on his half growled, half slurred speech. “She thinks she’s so charitable and kind. What does kindness get you? Nothing. Charity is mockery, kindness is a front. Not to her. She wants to believe she’s good and kind…”

Vegeta stopped in order to once again reach for the bottle of wine that was no longer there, his fingers patting down the warm patch of grass as if he would find his drink beneath the blades. Goku looked around at the other bottles that had been scattered around them, before turning towards the case of wine just a few inches away. She leaned over and plucked a bottle that was still sealed and rolled it across the grass towards Vegeta. It bumped against his opposite hip and he picked it up instantly and gnawed at the foil with his teeth. The cork came off with ease, Vegeta spitting it out towards the lake where it broke the water’s already rippling surface. Goku watched Vegeta guzzle his wine with the same distant interest that she had once watched the apes in the trees back at Mount Paozu. He was an oddly amusing sight.

Again once Vegeta had drank his fill he placed the bottle at his hip, but instead of staying in place it tipped over and spilled the last of the red liquid into the grass. Goku reached over to the case and grabbed another bottle in anticipation, but for now Vegeta seemed satisfied.

“She said she’d fix my space ship,” Vegeta announced, his voice even heavier after this most recent drink. “I’ve seen her working on it.”

Goku hummed, taken aback by this statement. She hadn’t even considered that Bulma would keep the space ship around, let alone repair it. The thought of Vegeta leaving the planet made her a touch regretful, but Goku couldn’t say that she would miss him. Not right away at least. After all, she would have a baby soon and loving her and Gohan would take up a lot of her attention for the next few months. Once she was back on her feet and ready to train again, she reasoned she would miss having Vegeta around since he was still a good sparring partner.

The baby began shifting again, stretching beneath her skin lazily and Goku took a moment to sit a bit straighter and tend to her stomach properly. “You don’t sound too happy about it,” Goku pointed out as the baby settled back down inside her, soothed by the rhythm of her touch.

Vegeta sneered, huffed, and sucked on his teeth as he began to shift about on the grass. “I don’t need her to do me any favors,” he seethed. “Her mocking, farcical ‘kindness’ means nothing to me.”

“It should mean somethin’. Bulma only does nice stuff for people when she loves ‘em.”

Again Vegeta snorted, but instead of stopping there he turned his head and spat at the ground. “Soft hearted foolishness,” he huffed.

“It’s true though,” Goku insisted.

“What is love to a Saiya-jin? Our kind doesn’t entertain such trivial things.”

Goku frowned at that, because Vegeta always said a lot of strange things, but somehow that comment rubbed her the wrong way. “That ain’t true,” she insisted. “I love my family and I love my friends.”

“No,” he grumbled. “You don’t.”

Her frown deepened and as her cheeks grew warm from something other than the sunshine. “I know how I feel,” Goku returned childishly, but once again Vegeta seemed intent on ignoring her.

“You feel a bond, a companionship to those so called ‘friends’ of yours.” Vegeta’s shoulders lurched, his mouth tightening for a moment as wine mingled with air and threatened to come back up his throat, but he quickly pushed it back down. “Warriors feel attachments towards one another, it’s true,” he continued, his voice a little tighter from the strain of fighting off his own bile. “Your husband and girl belong to you, they’re yours and you feel a pride in owning them. That isn’t love.”

“I know how I feel,” Goku said again, sliding the bottle across the grass and to Vegeta’s side. “I ain’t like you. I don’t hafta hide from lovin’ people ‘cause it scares me.”

Vegeta turned to look at her for the first time, his eyes glassy and blood shot. There was sweat caressing his brow, but the usual drunken flush was absent from his cheeks and Goku reasoned it was a Saiya-jin trait. “I’m not-” he began, but Goku was quick to interrupt.

“You’re drunk,” she told him, as she rolled onto her side and climbed back to her feet. She took a moment to brush the grass off her pants and Vegeta snorted defensively beneath her. “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna tell no body you’re here. Have fun bein’ alone.”

Vegeta didn’t say anything, but Goku didn’t care to hear him as she willed herself up towards the sky and back to her friends.

*

Muten Roshi was sound asleep by the time his head settled into a comfortable position against the padded chair of the capsule plane. Kuririn wasn’t at all surprised at his master’s state, given that the man had been drinking freely since the bar had opened, but a large part of him wished that Muten Roshi didn’t have to snore quiet so loudly. 

He sighed and slid into the pilot’s seat and prepared the plane for takeoff. The sun had fully set and every last bit of food had been eaten. His belly felt warm and pleasantly full, but most of all Kuririn found himself filled with a tired sort of relief now that everything had been said and done.

“It’d be faster if we flew back by ourselves,” Eighteen commented from her position in the co-pilot’s chair. She glanced back towards the rear of the plane where Muten Roshi continued to snore away as Umigame made himself comfortable while the engine continued to warm up. “We’d be back at the island in less than an hour.”

“You might be right,” Kuririn chuckled as the plane gradually lifted off the ground and up into the air. “But then again, I’m feeling too tired and full to test that theory.”

“I’ll fly if you want,” Eighteen said. “I don’t run out of energy, remember?”

“That’s alright,” Kuririn smiled. “But if I start to nod off, you can take over.”

Eighteen accepted his words with a slight hum before taking a moment to switch on the radio and search for a station to listen to. After a minute or two of switching about aimlessly, Eighteen settled on a channel playing something light and mellow that easily melted into the background before turning her gaze towards the darkened sky beyond the window. 

Kuririn looked at her starlight framed figure and felt his smile widen. Her golden hair framed her face neatly as her pale skin practically glowed in the moonlight. The day had gone well, better than he had imagined and he was grateful beyond words that Eighteen had been there with him. 

He glanced back to the rear of their plane and saw that Umigame was now sound asleep as well, his head pillowed on top of his flippers the turtle’s own exhaustion getting the better of him. Muten Roshi had shifted slightly in his seat, his head now lulling to the side in a way that caused his glasses to slide into an awkward angle on his face, but from the heavy snores it was clear the old man was still deep asleep.

Kuririn took advantage of the moment of relative privacy by reaching over to Eighteen’s chair and grasping her hand in his. The gesture caught her attention instantly, but she only regarded him mildly, her blue eyes flickering from their joined hands to the slightly nervous grin Kuririn was wearing. She was wearing her usual even expression, but her attention seemed fully trained on Kuririn as she quietly waited for him to speak.

“Eighteen, I…” Kuririn felt his chest tighten and face flush at the expectant look in her eyes. He had intended to thank her for the day, for putting up with him and his strange friends, but instead he found himself going a different way. “I love you.”

The was a moment when wild panic seized his chest as the plane’s cockpit filled with an almost deafening silence, but it lasted no longer than the blink of an eye. 

“I know,” Eighteen told him. She spoke the words in that flat way of hers, but when her fingers managed to lace themselves around his, Kuririn knew that this wasn’t just another moment for Eighteen. “And I love you, too.”

*

“Hey.”

It was strange for Tenshinhan to tense at the sound of Yamucha’s voice, yet he found himself turning ridged none the less. He hadn’t expected the other man to speak to him or approach him at all, the two having gone back to ignoring one another some time ago and had continued to do so throughout the day’s events. Yet when Tenshinhan turned around he saw Yamucha standing behind him, acknowledging him properly for the first time that day.

“Uh… hi,” Tenshinhan offered in greeting, fumbling and failing to find something more interesting to say.

All around them the party was winding down. The distant sound of a plane taking off was a small reminder of Kuririn and his small group departing back to Kame House, Piccolo and Dende had already retreated back to the Heavenly Realm, Yajirobe was scavenging for any lingering scraps of food like a blood hound, and Bulma was practically forcing the last piece of cake on a somewhat reluctant Goku. The venders were packing away their empty trays and a few uniformed workers were taking down the decorations. In another hour or so there would be no trace of the shower left in the courtyard.

Yet here Yamucha was, standing in front of Tenshinhan at the last lingering breath of the party, looking uncertain and awkward as he rubbed a nervous hand against the back of his neck. “I, uh, I was just thinking,” Yamucha began. His words were hesitant, almost reluctant, and as he spoke he pointedly avoided meeting Tenshinhan’s gaze but still he carried on. “My season’s over so I’ve got a lot of time on my hands. Do you wanna maybe go grab a drink sometime?”

Tenshinhan could feel the startled redness spread from his neck straight to the tips of his ears. He glanced down to his side, remembering Chaozu’s presence quite suddenly, but his friend was currently distracted by the task of sorting through their “party favor” – a small pink gift bag containing games and candy that Bulma had put together – to pay attention to the conversation.

“I, uh, I don’t really drink,” Tenshinhan said apologetically. “At least, I’m trying to cut back. But I’m always free to do something.”

Yamucha grinned, the uncertainty slowly melting out of him. “That’s fair. Maybe we can catch a movie or something.”

Tenshinhan smiled at the comment, grinning for once at the knowledge that this encounter would not involve a sparring session. “A movie would be nice.” 

“Yeah, well, you have my number.” Yamucha chuckled awkwardly and Tenshinhan found himself returning the gesture in kind.

*

“So there’s only dessert left?” Goku asked as Bulma handed the bright pink box carrying the packaged cake and cookies over to ChiChi. He accepted it wordlessly even though he was likely growing impatient at Goku’s frequent and insistent inquiries about leftovers. 

“Yes, Son-kun, that’s all there is,” Bulma told her for what had to be the tenth time. “You did quite a number on the rest. I’m sure those caterers will have stories to tell for years to come.”

“Feh, too good for sweets, eh?” Yajirobe grumbled as he came up beside them, his beady eyes leering at the pastry box intently. “Well if it’s not to yer likin’…”

“Nuh-uh! It’s ours!” ChiChi cut in tensely as he yanked the box quickly out of Yajirobe’s grasp. “Bulma-sa’ gave it ta the guest o’ honor an’ it’s only polite that she keeps it.” ChiChi punctuated his comment by offering Bulma a deep bow, which she returned with a smile knowing that it irritated Yajirobe.

Yajirobe gave a disappointed snort as ChiChi took the cake back to his waiting aircar. He grumbled something under his breath before giving up on his equally desperate quest for food and returning to Karin who had been waiting to start on their journey back to the tower.

Bulma shook her head and turned her attention back to Goku who was standing with one arm slung comfortably around Gohan’s shoulders. Gohan’s hair had come undone somehow, the wild spikes sticking up in their usual pattern as a few flowers clung desperately to her tangled strands. “Well, I hope you two had a good time,” Bulma grinned.

“We had plenty of fun, right Gohan?” Goku asked, giving her daughter’s shoulder a slight rub.

“Right,” Gohan beamed, a shy smile coloring her cheeks. “It was nice seeing everyone again. Thank you so much for having us.”

“You’re welcome,” Bulma chuckled.

“The baby an’ I had a great time too,” Goku said, using her other hand to pat the side of her belly. “I can feel her kickin’ up a storm tryin’ to make some room underneath everythin’ we ate.”

Bulma laughed heartily at her friend’s simple comment. “Well as long as you two are happy, I’m happy.”

“That’s good,” Goku said reaching over to grasp Bulma’s arm by the elbow. Goku’s hands were rough as always, she had a calloused fighter’s touch that motherhood could never erase, but somehow Bulma could tell that the simple gesture was Goku’s attempt at being tender. “You deserve to be happy.”

A watery sort of warmth found its way to the back of her eyes and Bulma found herself laughing and rubbing at her cheeks to cover it up. “Oh Son-kun,” she breathed as she leaned in to plant a kiss to her friend’s cheek. “You’re just too much.”

When the last plane had left, Bulma slipped out of her heels and grabbed a bottle of wine and one of the gift bags. Her mother had already taken Trunks inside and her father had lit a cigarette and declared that he was going to finish up a little work in the lab, but Bulma felt too drained to even think about wires and equations. Instead she went up to the third floor patio where she was able to watch the last of the workers dismantle the courtyard. 

Bulma sighed and leaned back against the stiff back of the plastic chair. _And that’s how you throw a successful baby shower,_ she thought gleefully as she tore into the foil wrapper around one of her chocolates. Sliding her bare feet into the chair across from hers, Bulma let out a pleasant hum as she bit into the little chocolate square, enjoying the sweet bitter flavor of the dark cocoa and raspberry as it hit her wine coated tongue. She had a feeling the other guests wouldn’t really appreciate the quality of the candies or the assortment of hoi-poi capsules that she had stuffed into their gift bags, but Bulma still took her own sort of pride in the selection.

The tables and chairs had all been cleared away down below and the last of the party lights were being wrapped up when Vegeta’s dark figure appeared on the horizon. Bulma frowned and bit into her third piece of chocolate when he touched down on the far end of the patio.

“Well, well, well, look who finally shows up,” Bulma scoffed, wiggling her toes from their place in the deck chair as Vegeta walked over to the patio’s railing. “The party’s over obviously. You missed a great time. Not that you care.”

Vegeta stayed silent as he rested heavily against the metal guard rails. He smelled like salt and sweat, but not in the usual way. There was a slight lack of grace to his movements and as he stared down at the people below, he seemed to breath a bit too forcefully and lean too far on the bars. It was a startling sight, but Bulma said nothing, not wanting her surprise to be mistaken for concern.

“If you’re looking for food, there isn’t any.”

“Not hungry,” he groused and Bulma didn’t wait to scoff at the comment.

“That’s a first.”

“Where’s Trunks?”

“In bed.”

Vegeta was silent after that, his curved back the only part of him Bulma could see clearly and after a few long seconds of watching his labored breaths she turned her attention back to the wine and chocolate in front of her. She picked up the discarded foils, balling them together between her fingers before reaching inside the bag for another. Mint flavored chocolate spread across her tongue as she refilled her plastic glass. 

“Just so you know,” she began once her mouth was free of candy, “the ship’s all ready. I didn’t change any of the controls, so it should be just like riding a bike for you.”

Again Vegeta remained silent and for a moment Bulma thought he had fallen asleep until she leaned forward to get a gleam of his half lidded eyes. She sighed and leaned back in her seat, accepting the fact that Vegeta wasn’t planning to engage with her at all tonight. The breath of air she let out seemed to have held her last bit of energy as Bulma suddenly realized just how worn down she was. The bit of chocolate she had nibbled on had done nothing to boost her energy and as she slid her feet back down to the ground she had every intention of stripping away her clothes and taking a nice long shower before falling into bed.

Yet once the chair was vacant, Vegeta slid into it, his body slumping down with such force that Bulma almost thought the chair would break under his weight. She gave a slight ‘tsk’ at the gesture, but found herself too tired to chide or fight. Instead she leaned down to grab her discarded pumps. 

“I don’t… I don’t remember Vegeta,” Vegeta said and for a moment Bulma found herself caught off guard by the words. She watched as the Saiya-jin prince leaned forward to place an elbow against the flat surface of the table before resting his wide forehead in his palm. “I don’t remember my planet… not in the real way. I remember some things… that Nappa told me, that Freeza told me… I can’t recall the color of the sunrise, the smell of the grass, or what a summer breeze felt like.”

Bulma frowned thoughtfully, but made a conscious effort not to speak or move, worried she might disrupt Vegeta’s train of thought. She allowed herself to shift enough to put her pumps in her lap as she waited patiently for the alien man to continue.

“I know my father’s face, because I heard he looked like me, but I can’t recall his voice or remember what he smelled like.” Vegeta took in long, deep breaths, his chest pumping up and down as sweat trickled down from his temple to rest on his jaw. “I don’t have a home, I never did, but I did have a father… I just can’t remember him.”

Understanding trickled on her as Bulma put her shoes aside and came to stand in front of Vegeta. She placed a hand against his cheek and felt that it was warm and gritty to the touch. “Come on,” she said encouragingly. “You’re in no condition to fly. Let’s get you to bed.”

Vegeta didn’t quite lean into her touch, but he didn’t pull away. The hand that had been cradling his jaw moved and found its way to Bulma’s hip. Vegeta pulled her forward slightly, his touch more mild than it had ever been and Bulma went to him willingly. He rested his forehead against her chest, his long hair feeling just as wild and hard as she remembered. Vegeta’s eyes fell closed as he breathed in her scent and Bulma sighed and rested her hand against the back of his neck.

“This doesn’t have to be your home,” she whispered to him. “You don’t have to stay.”

His other hand found its way to her hip, resting just as firm and heavy as the other, but loose enough that if she really wanted Bulma could pull away. “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when this story used to have regular updates? Yeesh! 
> 
> Next chapter will most likely be the end. It might seem a bit abrupt, but I'll try to wrap things up as neatly as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Like with "Something New" this is an alternate universe where everyone in Goku's family is a different sex/gender, but the rest of the characters are the same.


End file.
